


Trick-or-Treat

by Starshine_and_Rain



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood and Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, MAP character, Minor-on-Adult Abuse, Mpreg, Offending MAP, Psychological Trauma, Rape Recovery, Redemption, Suicide Attempt, Time Skips, Underage - Adult/Minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-08-04 00:50:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16336613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starshine_and_Rain/pseuds/Starshine_and_Rain
Summary: Shiro owed a karmic debt.He could never undo the rape that Keith experienced, no matter how much he strove to make amends. It was a terrible act of violence.  Little did he realise, the world was far from a forgiving place. Nothing could repay a lifetime of trauma. Shiro wanted to move forward, but the world kept holding him back. He sought only for redemption.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sedusa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sedusa/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Adult-on-Minor Rape

_‘Don’t go out alone, Keith.’_

_Lance stood with arms folded. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled slow, as his blue eyes fixed on the small four-year old before him, and he bit into his lip to hold back a curse, as he saw Keith already dressed in the red-and-black uniform of a Paladin. The myths and legends of the past were imprinted in his mind, so that it was all Lance heard in the past few weeks leading up to Halloween . . . ‘I want to be a Paladin’, ‘I want to be a Paladin’ . . ._

_It was a very good suit. Every one of his friends helped donate a little money, just so that Keith could have the best costume in the neighbourhood, and Allura even sewed parts of it together herself, while teaching Keith about various stitches and Altean history. The helmet shone from the three-dimensional printer that Pidge used while trying to teach Keith about the mathematics used to create the design, while Hunk made a large lunch and packed it into a ‘Voltron’ lunchbox, where the Paladins of centuries previous stood prominent._

_Keith stood before the front door and bounced on his heels, while holding so tight to his lunchbox and pumpkin-bucket that his knuckles turned white, and the framed photograph of Papa Kogane hung from the wall behind him, where – catching the old fireman’s eyes – Lance winced and ran a hand through his brown hair. He bit into his lip until he tasted iron, before swallowing hard and forcing a trembling smile. Lance dropped to his knees._

_‘I’ll just be ten minutes, I swear.’_

_‘You promised,’ spat Keith. ‘You promised! You said this would be the best Halloween ever. I – I don’t want to wait! Why do I have to live with you? You’re mean. You hate me. I want to go live with Papa. I want Papa. I want Papa! I don’t want to live with you!’_

_‘Keith, we – we had this discussion, right?’ Lance blinked back tears. ‘Papa has gone to live with the angels in heaven. There was – like . . . there was a big fire and he was hurt, which is why we saw his body put into the ground, because he’s not in his body any more. He’s out there . . . watching us . . . loving us very much, but he can’t be with us in body.’_

_‘Papa promised me he’d go as the Black Paladin.’_

_‘I – I could only get the Blue Paladin for an adult, but I still look cool, right? Look, I literally just have to run next door to Mr Iverson, because I have to get your application for the Garrison pre-school in before the deadline, and . . . and I didn’t know that you’d be living here, so I’m already late. I’ll be ten minutes. Stay here and wait for me, okay?’_

_‘Papa never left me alone. You’re supposed to take me with you!’_

_‘Look, Iverson has his door open, right?’ Lance smiled. ‘I’ll leave this door open, too. You can shout me from across the street and I’ll come running! I can’t take you over there, as he has a bunch of cats and they told me you were – er – allergic or something?’_

_‘Why can’t he have dogs? I like dogs.’_

_‘I don’t know, dude . . .’_

_Lance buried his hand into his face. The white gloves of his costume were cold and uncomfortable, while helmet rested uncomfortably under his armpit, and he struggled in costume to grab the papers and dash to the front door. He looked around and saw dozens of children flooding the suburban area, as occasional grown-ups shuffled them to and fro like corralled animals being led from field to field. Iverson waved at him from across the street, already frowning in a manner that made his distaste of Lance clear._

_‘I’ll be right back,’ promised Lance._

_He drew in a deep breath and ruffled Keith’s hair, before he ran full speed across the empty road, and – as some brat yelled at him to look both ways – he put up a middle finger and cringed as Iverson cursed him out and a mother screamed at him from afar. Lance wondered what Kogane was thinking leaving Keith to him. He was barely a few steps from Iverson, throwing out the paperwork before him, as his helmet dropped to the porch._

_‘Er, trick-or-treat?’ Lance teased._

* * *

Keith struggled to keep pace. The other children were so much taller, that every stride of theirs was equal to two strides from his little legs, and it was even more a chore when they failed to notice him behind them, even as he waved his hands and asked to join them. He heard a few of the girls giggle, while one boy threw a small sweet at him. Keith started to run as they picked up speed. He soon ran at full speed to follow them.

It was useless. They were soon running off ahead, as they turned down a strange street, and he was left all alone on a pavement that was made from a different stone to the one at home, where all the children looked different and acted different and pushed past him. He drew in a choked breath, while forcing back the oncoming tears. He knew that only babies cried, but the loneliness and terror and confusion all bundled together inside him, as he struggled to process everything inside his chest, and soon he was uncontrollably sobbing on the street.

A shadow fell over him, as he cried into his closed fists. He was lost and alone in a big neighbourhood filled with detached houses and gated areas, while his heart raced every faster and faster until he struggled to hear anything else in the street. A cold sweat broke over his pale skin. He hopped from foot to foot, as a low groan escaped his lips now wet with mucus and salty tears, and he remembered what Lance said . . . _‘don’t go out alone’_. . . Keith wondered what was their address, just as he wondered what was Lance’s last name.

He spun around and glanced from house to house. They loomed in the darkness with unfamiliar facades, while vampires and monsters and mummies ran about, and the noise of laughter and growls and shouts turned into a cacophony of chaos. The colours and shapes and sizes all merged until they raced before his eyes, as he pushed his fists against his fists and into his eyes. He wanted to go home. He wanted Lance! Where was Lance?

“Hey, I like your costume.”

Keith turned around and looked upward. A huge man stood before him, but he wore a big and bright smile that reminded him so much of Papa! It made the corner of his eyes crinkle, which were black and dark, and his jaw was so square that he looked just like the photographs, as if Papa were back to make everything right. He even had dark hair, too! A crashing wave of relief flooded his veins and poured into every muscle.

A low sigh escaped him, as his shoulders sagged and he smiled back. The man was in a costume, too, but he was dressed as the Black Paladin! The Black Paladin was the leader! He was a man who saved the day, with his big hulking muscles and gigantic frame, and he was also smart and kind and loyal like Papa. It brought back vague memories . . . _‘he’s always with us’, ‘he’ll be with you when you need him’, ‘he’s just not in his body any more’_. . . this man might be his papa, but he also liked his costume, too! Keith beamed with pride.

“I’m the Red Paladin,” chirped Keith.

“Really? Wow!” The man smiled. “He was always one of my favourites. I see you have your Paladin lunchbox, too! That looks really awesome, little guy. Do you have lots of candy inside from all the trick-or-treating? I bet you must have lots of candy.”

“No.” Keith lowered his head and sniffed. “The other kids ran away from me! I – I’m supposed – I’m supposed to put my candy in my pumpkin bucket, but I lost it a few streets ago and – and – and I don’t know where I am, because Lance said not to move and I moved and I don’t know where we live to ask anyone! I can’t go home.”

“Hey, there, it’s okay! I’m not the Black Paladin for nothing. Do you know what my daddy always taught me? He said ‘patience yields focus’. That means – if you wait and be good – lots of good things will happen, so I’m going to need you to relax for a second, okay?”

“O-Okay, Mister,” mumbled Keith. “Will you make it all better?”

“I promise,” swore the man. “I’m here to help.”

The man crouched down and ruffled his hair. It was a gentle touch, which reminded him so much of his father, and he smiled and wiped his nose on his sleeve, while smiling bright and bouncing on the heels of his feet. The grown-ups always fixed everything! No one would hurt him with the Black Paladin to protect him, especially the other children, and together they would find Lance and go home and eat candy and -! The man slowly stroked his hand over his cheeks and lingered his thumb on his lips, which was weird. Keith frowned.

A streak of white painted the man’s hair, which caught Keith’s attention. He parted his lips to ask about the streak, but the pad of the thumb pushed into his mouth and caught his tongue, and it tasted pretty weird, enough that Keith pulled away and contorted his face. The man chuckled and patted his head, before half-standing and half-bending forward, while Keith simply flared his nostrils and put his hands on his hips. The man chirped out:

“My name is Shiro. What’s your name?”

Keith looked around. A woman was lingering on her porch across the street, with glasses hiding her eyes as the moonlight caught the lenses, but he was certain that she was watching them with an intent gaze. He waved to her. She waved back. He giggled and smiled, as he bounced on his feet, but – weirdly – Shiro took his hand with a gentle squeeze and started to walk him away down the pavement. Keith frowned. Did he know where Lance lived? Were they going home? Keith followed with smiles, as the Black Paladin protected him, and said:

“My name is Keith.”

“That’s a nice name,” said Shiro. “It’s very grown-up.”

“My – My papa gave me the name.” Keith smiled. “You look just like him! Are you my papa? He promised he would be the Black Paladin! We were going to go trick-or-treating together, but then his body stopped working in a fire and he was put in the ground. I’m not allowed to get his body out, but Lance said he would still be with me, like you!”

“You can call me ‘Papa’, if you want. I’ll also be with you, Keith; no one should leave such a beautiful boy alone on a night like this, plus I have all the candy you could want at my place, and you can have it all, Keith. Would you like that? Do you want all the candy?”

“Do – Do you have the kind without milk? Milk makes me sick.”

“That’s fine. I have special man milk just for you.”

Keith squeezed at his hand. It really was his papa! Papa always made sure that had milk that came in special cartons, which never made him sick, and they would always eat breakfast together every morning with matching cereal bowls. The chocolate was never as nice, but Papa promised him that – for every piece of candy given – he would get _two_ pieces of special candy that would not make him get tummy pains. Keith swung on Shiro’s hand and pulled him forward, while he babbled aimlessly about Lance and his cartoons, until he asked:

“Do we have far to walk?”

The lady across the road walked down her path, but – as Keith waved again – Shiro lifted him up in big muscular arms, until Keith felt miles above the ground and had to throw his arms around a thick neck to keep from a sensation of imbalance. Every muscle was solid and toned, while just one arm seemed double the size of Keith’s whole body, and he watched the world behind him get smaller as they strode away at a quick pace. The lady was on her phone.

“It’s just around the corner,” promised Shiro.

It took a good few minutes, as Keith chatted about all the shows he loved, until they came to a house on the corner of two streets, and walked past a white picket fence towards a large porch, which was totally unlike his original home back in the desert. He expected his papa to take him back to the shack, where they could play tag in the sands and read books to the setting sun, but instead this house was fancy and big and different to home.

Shiro clicked open the door. He dropped Keith inside and locked up behind them, as Keith ran as fast as he could into the wildly decorated lounge, and – gasping in surprise – he stopped dead to see all the skeletons and ooze and ghosts. It was so unlike back home! Lance always said the decorations were too expensive, so they had only old paper banners that were torn in places, but this looked just like the big stores! Keith climbed onto a sofa and swung his tiny legs over the side with a loud giggle, while Shiro came back into the room.

He carried a big cauldron, at least two feet tall, and Keith could see various name-brand candy bars poking out from the top, all of them big-sized bars! Shiro gently placed the cauldron onto the coffee-table filled with cobwebs, and waved Keith towards it with a smile and a nod, but – struggling to read non-verbal communication – Keith  simply quirked his head to the side and waited for a vocal: ‘go ahead’. He dove into the cauldron with a squeal and wrenched out the first yummy bar he could find. It looked so good!

Keith awkwardly ripped the wrapper from one. It was warm and left brown marks on his hand, as opposed to the cold kind that Lance kept the in refrigerator, and he nibbled at the end with his tongue poking out in anticipation. The taste was perfect! It was so rich and creamy, nothing like his usual chocolate. He moaned in enjoyment, while Shiro sat on the sofa next to him, where it dipped a little under the humongous weight of muscles. Shiro whispered:  

“Do you want to see a snake?”

It was a very strange question. Keith blinked and finished his chocolate, before he grabbed for another with a big and bright smile, and – wiping away the smudges from his mouth – Keith spun around with crossed legs, as he craned his head upward to the man above him. A crick in his neck made him look back down, as he frowned and continued to eat at the delicious treats before him. A snake would be scary, right? He never saw a snake before, though, and his papa would never let any harm befall him! Keith asked:

“You have a snake?”

“I sure do,” laughed Shiro. “It’s a trouser-snake. It only comes out when it’s really happy, but – remember – I gave you _lots_ of yummy chocolate, so you owe me something in return, and I want you to make this snake very happy so he comes out. Can you do that?”

“I can do anything,” said Keith. “I’m the Red Paladin!”

“Good, then you can get on your fucking knees.”

Keith dropped his chocolate. It fell onto the floor with a soft thud, as his hands trembled and he craned his neck upward again, but – with a shuddered sigh – everything suddenly felt a lot scarier and darker and just . . . wrong. Papa never swore. It was bad to swear, because it upset people and people were also supposed to say ‘please’. Keith pulled off his helmet and put it on the table beside his lunchbox, while he sniffed and blinked back tears. He fidgeted with his fingers in his lap, while his lips trembled and chest heaved with big gulps of oxygen.

“You swore,” said Keith. “Papa never swears.”

A callused hand snatched at his hair. The gloves were gone, while Shiro was shucking off his clothes at an alarming rate, and his pectoral muscles – so large and grand – were almost like women’s breasts for sheer size and mass. Keith paled at sight of the half-naked body, as his mouth fell open and his limbs fell weak. The hand gripped until hair was wrenched out. Keith was shoved onto the floor between sofa and table, as Shiro swung his legs around on either side of him, and held so tight that pain screamed through every nerve in his body. Shiro spat:

“I’m not your Papa, bitch. Now, suck!”

Keith cried out in earnest. He rubbed and pushed at his eyes, while Shiro unbuttoned his trousers and shoved them down to his knees, and a huge member was revealed standing to attention far larger than anything Keith has ever witnessed. He tried to stumble back, but Shiro snatched again at his hair and yanked him forward. He was back on his knees. They stung and hurt and his scalp burned, but now he was face-to-face with a pee-pee bigger than his forearm and he wanted to run and hide and scream and die! It was scary.

The head was red and flared, with the slit dripping a clear liquid. It looked a little like pee, because nothing else came out of _there_ except pee, and Keith shook his head and pressed his lips tightly together, as he watched a thick vein on the underside throb in tune to a racing heartbeat. The thick thatch of pubic hair was so unlike the bare area Keith bore, but reminded him vaguely of when he showered with Papa . . . did all grown-ups have that?

Keith choked and spluttered on his tears, as he tried to crawl away . . . Shiro was fast . . . a clenched fist struck him with backside first, so that huge knuckles collided with his cheek and sent his head hurtling onto a thick knee, and the pain seared strong and sharp through every nerve as his vision temporarily blacked. Two hands buried themselves into his hair, as they pulled his head towards that thick cock and thumbs pressed into his mouth.

He nearly choked on the rough pads of those thumbs invaded his mouth, tasting bitter and prying his lips wide open, and – crying out as best as he could – Keith bit down with all his strength, only for a hand to be removed at quick speed. It slapped him. A trickle of blood ran down his split lip, while the other thumb forced his mouth partially open, and he was dragged ever closer to that weeping member while tears blurred his vision and blinded him to the dark reality of what was to come. The head brushed against his lower lip.

“If you bite,” warned Shiro, “I’ll pull out your teeth.”

“No,” begged Keith. “No, no, no!”

“Fucking _suck_ , you cunt!”

The member was held in the free hand. It was aimed at his lips. Keith screamed out until his lungs ran out of breath, but the tail-end of his cries was muffled by the head being shoved into his mouth. It tasted bitter and gross! The pee-like liquid ran over his tongues and glistened his lips, while the thumb left his mouth so it could grip his hair in a tight hold, and – as he cried out again in pain – the member was shoved ever deeper into his throat.

It was horrible! The head poked at the back of his throat, causing him to retch and gag, but it never stopped and his head was yanked . . . _up and down, up and down_. . . each time he tried to talk, vibrations shot down the member and brought groans from that grown-up mouth. The flickers of his tongue only made Shiro moan, as he threw back his head and started to buck upward, but he was so big that it couldn’t all fit inside! A good four inches were still outside his mouth, as he drooled down onto those testicles and his jaw ached in agonising pain.

A cold bruise formed on one cheek, the other bore several small cuts from the punch, and they both hurt so much that he wanted to run back to Lance . . . Lance who gave him sweet-tasting medicines, Lance who tucked him into bed at night . . . Keith wept, but his tears and mucus merged with the blood and pre-come. It built at the back of his throat, climbing and clawing with the bile that rose in his tiny chest. The tears fell down his cheeks.

“Yeah, you like that,” whispered Shiro. “Don’t you, bitch?”

Keith struggled to breath. It wasn’t long before he was choking, as breath left him and his chest tightened, and – as sparks flashed before his vision – Keith started to lose consciousness as he hyperventilated . . . _gasping, moaning, weeping_   . . . Shiro yanked his head back just before the world went black. The vomit sprang free from his lips. It was hot and bitter over his tongue, as it fell violently onto the floor and over Shiro’s boots.

“Oh, you fucking piece of shit!”

Keith was still panting for breath, when the knee collided with his jaw. He was sent hurtling onto the floor, while he clawed and clasped at the carpet in an attempt to crawl away, and his tooth was loose from the impact, as the taste of iron flooded his mouth. A hand gripped at his neck and dragged him through the vomit and across the floor, before tossing him onto a nearby sofa as if he were nothing more than a ragdoll. Keith continued to weep.

Rough hands tugged and pulled at his costume. The seam tore . . . _Allura stitched parts just for him . . . the costume was too big, but it was also expensive . . . Lance went without his favourite shows and candy and music just for him . . ._ cold air struck at his sweat-soaked skin, bringing goosebumps to his pale flesh, and Keith fought and screamed and clawed at Shiro, until a thick slash was ripped right across his face. A long cut ran underneath his eyes and over his nose, where blood ran over his face and made it look like he was crying blood.

“I was going to go easy on you, too,” spat Shiro.

Fists pounded and struck at Keith . . . _over and over and over_. . . he curled into a ball and tensed, as he tried to protect his body from the worst, but everything ached and hurt and soon every breath was painful, like something was stabbing him in his side. Shiro only stopped when he was out of breath. He shook his hands and blew air over his knuckles, before he rolled Keith over and stripped him of the last of his costume. Keith lay limp, too afraid to fight and too scared to scream. Shiro climbed between his legs.

He hooked Keith’s legs up over the crooks of his arms, while licking his lips and gazing down with dilated eyes and flushed cheeks, and the blood – still dripping from his wound – fell onto Keith’s face and ran over his lips. Keith choked and coughed, while huge hands ran over his chest and pulled at his nipples, until he cried out and sobbed all over again, as he desperately tried to yank those fingers away from something so sensitive.

“You’ll love what’s next,” teased Shiro.

“Please, I want to go home!”

“No, you don’t.” Shiro slapped at his buttocks. “I saw the way you looked at me, you fucking cock-tease . . . shaking that ass, puckering those lips . . . you want this, don’t you? _Yeah, you sexy little cunt._ You think you can lead me on and just leave? No, I want my fucking piece of ass and you’re going to give it to me. Now, shut up and let Daddy have his fun.”

Keith screwed shut his eyes. He thought to how his real daddy was with the angels, where Lance and Allura taught him that he only needed to pray to talk to him, and so he tried to think really hard about his father and the good days, as he breathed deep and thought about how his papa always swore to protect him. He would come through that door and make all the pain stop! He would hug him and hold him and kiss him! They would go home and –

_Keith screamed._

A searing and agonising pain ripped through him. Every nerve was aflame. He clawed and pounded and kicked at Shiro, as he strove to get away from the huge thing that seemed to inflate from within, and – just as he thought he could stand it no longer – everything got worse . . . he was on fire from inside! It burned. It ached. The blood ran down his thighs wet and hot, while he screamed until his voice was hoarse. He looked down.

The head of the penis could be seen on his lower stomach, poking as if through all his organs, and – so full, so stuffed, so consumed – Keith reached down with a trembling hand and touched at the raised skin of his stomach, while the monster-sized man above him knelt with arms either side of his small frame. He was cast into total darkness. Shiro grunted and thrust inside him . . . _in and out, in and out_. . . every time Keith thought it would end, it continued on and on and on until the pain was his whole existence. It wouldn’t end!

He would never forget the hot breath. It was moist and warm across his swollen cheeks, as the grunts seared themselves onto his memory, and the member speared him and stretched him and made him feel ripped in half until he feared he would bleed to death. Keith rolled his head and stared at the sign. He saw one that said ‘Halloween’. Hunk taught him to read that word . . . said it was important . . . a witch hung from the ceiling, dressed like the costume Katie said she was thinking of wearing for Lance’s party that night.

Keith was numb, as he stopped fighting his captor. He let Shiro grunt and moan and use his body for whatever purpose, while beads of sweat ran down his humongous muscles, and soon he was drooling just enough that he looked almost like a crazed villain. The blown pupils were scary to see, like there was nothing but black, and the veins on his arms bulged, as he thrust slowly in this time and broke his rhythm . . . _once, twice, thrice_. . .  

“ _Oh, you fucking whore! You fucking whore!_ ”

A hot and sticky liquid flooded his insides. It was like salt on a wound. The pain was beyond anything imaginable, as it squired out of his swollen and bruised hole, and yet only one small tear ran down his cheek as he silently watched the witch sway on her string, unable to say anything as Shiro panted above him cruel laughter. Keith listened to the panting noises, until Shiro slowly pulled out of him and the come leaked from his used hole.

The blood and come leaked out onto the sofa, while Keith’s legs fell limp against the cushions, and his hole winked as if trying to regain shape. He stared off into the distance, while Shiro redressed with a rustle of fabric and a whoosh of a zipper, and the grunts and pants started to die down in intensity and amount, until something was thrown at Keith. The first few things were soft, but the last thing was hard and hurt his bruised chest. He did not bother to move his head. He could not bring himself to look.

“Use those baby-wipes to clean yourself up,” spat Shiro.

“Why?” Keith whispered. “Why?”

“I don’t want any fucking evidence on you, dipshit.” Shiro rolled his eyes. “Get every last inch of my come out of your hole, okay? I’ll be back in five minutes. You better be cleaned up and fully dressed, because I’ll drive you out into the countryside buck-naked if I have to, and then everyone will see you as the whore you are. Try walking home like that.”

Keith waited. He waited for the footsteps to grow quiet and stop, while a clock ticked loudly from a corner of the room, and outside children screamed and shouted and laughed, but inside there was only now the loneliness and the threat of being made to be naked. Shiro said he would have to walk home, but where was home? He quietly sniffed and sobbed, as he tried to sit upright and screamed out in pain. He collapsed from the sofa onto the floor.

He ignored the shouts to shut the fuck up as he wept. Keith knew one thing . . . Shiro wanted the ‘come’ gone from his hole . . . it was important to Shiro, which was weird, because it was dirty and not useful to anyone, and so Keith wiped at his butt with the wipes and cleaned himself of all come and blood and faecal matter about his thighs. He tossed most of the wipes onto the table, but one he slid into the pocket of the Paladin costume. Lance would know why the ‘come’ was important. Keith made sure he picked the wipe with the most.

It took a long time to get dress, but his helmet was cracked and his shirt was torn. The costume didn’t fit right any longer, while his stomach really hurt and made funny noises, and every step brought a searing pain through his lower region, until he just fell limp onto the carpet and clutched at his lunchbox. He wanted his papa. Why did Papa promise to save him when he let Shiro hurt him so bad? Why did Papa break his promises? Keith could find no more tears, as his bloodshot eyes stared emptily into space while losing focus.

He barely noticed as Shiro opened his lunch box and poured inside a load of candy, or that a pumpkin bucket was placed beside him also now filled with candy, but he did notice when Shiro heaved him to his feet by his armpits and shoved the items into his hands. Keith was walked towards the door, where he kept his head low and shoulders hunched, and he listened to a cackling noise outside and heard a rustle of keys from a bucket.

“I’m going to drop you off by the farm,” said Shiro. “It’s not far past the Garrison, but the main part that serves as a college for the older students. You probably don’t know how to read, do you? Just look towards all the sparkling lights and walk that way, okay?”

“I walk towards the sparkling lights,” murmured Keith.

“Yeah, that’s right. You walk towards the lights, Keith. I promise that eventually someone in a car will stop and pick you up, but it’ll take a lot longer walking the other way. Now, I need you to listen to me very carefully about this part, alright? _Don’t tell anyone_. If you tell anyone what I did to you, I’ll kill that guy . . . Lance? I’ll kill Lance.”

Keith nodded, as the door was thrown open. He was shoved outside and the door was slammed shut, before he was guided towards a shiny car and thrown inside, and – as he screamed out at the pressure of cushions on his buttocks – Shiro joined him inside. Shiro hissed at him to shut up and slapped him once more, before he backed up and drove along the streets with the low hum of Halloween music playing over the radio . . .

He heard some song about monsters mashing and people being taken away, while others played about time warps and zydrate and one called ‘This is Halloween’ from a movie he liked when Papa was alive . . . Keith tried to remember how many songs played, because then he could sing then while walking back to know how close he would be to home, but soon he lost track and the car screeched to a halt on a scary road. There was no one in sight. The birds cawed and hooted, while everything was pitch-black. The door was thrown open. Shiro spat:

“Don’t tell anyone, Keith.”

Keith was shoved out of the car and tossed onto the ground. He lay there . . . still, quiet, unblinking . . . nothing was said or done until the door was pulled shut and the car raced off with a screech of tires, but even then he waited in case Shiro came back. _He was alone_. It was scary when he knew monsters were about, but suddenly the werewolves and vampires didn’t seem so bad, because they only wanted to kill him or hurt him a little . . . no . . .

He wasn’t scared of monsters any longer.

He was scared of Shiro.


	2. Chapter One

_Keith grew faint._

_The aisle was filled with decorations. Every shelf was stacked with plastic monsters or crammed with folded costumes, while children crowded around the piles of boxed candy with pleading expressions and wide eyes, and adults laughed and patted at their heads. The music over the radio was the usual themes tunes, some from films and some from albums, but one song in particular played . . . ‘This is Halloween’ . . . Keith stumbled backward._

_He grabbed at the glass of the meat display, while the butcher muttered some words. The cold material grounded him, as he closed his eyes and breathed deep through his nose, but the flashing lights were still visible through his eyelids, while the cacophony of noise continued until it kept an off-rhythm to the beat of his racing heart. He instinctively clenched his behind, as the scent of a car drifted past him, but there were no plastics or air-fresheners or oils. It disorientated him. It frightened him. Keith swallowed hard, as tears started to brim._

_‘Do I need to get Daddy?’_

_Keith opened his eyes and looked down. Alfor stood on his tiptoes with his head cocked to the side, while he scratched at his white hair with a pout, and – as he leaned towards Keith – the Altean markings on his brown skin seemed to perfectly complement his blue eyes. He took Keith’s hand and squeezed. It was a gentle touch, but it was so much like Lance or Allura that Keith let out a long breath that made his shoulders instantly slump. Keith knelt down and pulled Alfor close to his chest with trembling hands. He buried his face against soft hair._

_There was a rich scent of apple shampoo, which drowned out the various candies and smoke machines down the aisle just ahead, and Alfor was safe locked away from the outside world, with Keith’s arms acting as a physical boundary. He tasted iron. He swayed. The world went quiet around them as Keith took slow and deep breaths, while keeping his eyes screwed shut, and counted in his mind . . . one, two, three, four . . . Keith asked in a broken voice:_

_‘Is Lance still shopping for tortillas?’_

_‘Yeah, Daddy says that the store-bought ones aren’t fresh enough,’ said Alfor. ‘Mommy says that he’s spending too much time with Hunk, because any will do when it’s just for our movie night with Uncle Coran! I think she just wants to go on their date.’_

_‘Uh-huh, that’s good.’_

_‘Are you really listening? You sound weird.’_

_Keith cried. He clung hard onto Alfor, even as his nails broke through the hideous sweater knitted by Coran on the previous Halloween, and soon they struggled as Alfor fought to break away from his touch, while the butcher came from behind his counter. People were looking at them! Alfor pried himself away, but Keith’s hands lingered in the air before him. They were numb. Every inch tingled like pins-and-needles, while they closed of their own accord into fists, and he lacked control . . . he lacked power . . . he wanted it to stop._

_‘I’m going to go get Daddy,’ shouted Alfor._

_Alfor ran straight towards the bread aisle. The butcher reached out to touch him, but he flinched and cowered into the corner like a lost child. A woman came forward claiming to be a nurse . . . “breathe slowly and sit straight” . . . “listen to my voice, I’m here” . . . Keith was in the supermarket, far away from the car that abandoned him in an empty lane. No one would hurt him in public. No one would hurt him with witnesses. No one would hurt him . . ._

_* * *_

Shiro flipped over the paper.

The writing was impossible to decipher, with additions by a second hand, and a smile crossed the corners of his cheeks to see how both used different pens, different styles, and even bickered back-and-forth with one another. He headed into another aisle in hopes of spotting a familiar brand, while he ignored the buzzing in his pocket. Kuro always messaged with incessant gossip, while Kolivan always checked in with him . . . never a moment of peace . . .

He laughed and folded the list neatly in half. The basket was already filled with their favourite items, with all ‘organic’ on one side and blocks of e-numbers on the other, and he struggled to hold the weight in the crook of his organic arm, even as he rhythmically flexed and switched arms in hopes of a brief rest. A song by Elvira blasted over the supermarket speakers, while a child cried out in the distance . . . _‘Papa, I want the Altean sweets!’_. . . it was a sweet mixture of noises, with laughter in places and complaints in others.

Shiro cricked his neck and turned a corner, as he strategically avoided touching those racing to and fro in the crowds, and he hummed an old tune to himself as he headed towards the Intergalactic Aisle, where the scent of Galra cuisine overpowered all others. He smiled to see mostly humans talking about what to try and what to return, as very few other species immigrated from the immediate area of the Garrison and into the suburbs.

“They never have anything of _Vrepit Sal’s_ ,” complained a man.

The man was alone before some of the meat products. A mop of unruly black hair styled into a mullet, with a cropped jacket that was bright red in colour, and his sharp features – along with stern gaze and certain mannerisms – betrayed him as one with Galra blood. Shiro flushed a shade of red . . . _toned muscles, lithe frame, exuding confidence_. . . Shiro brought his hand to the chain about his neck, where a gold ring hung in an obvious display. It grounded him and allowed him to take in a deep breath. He smiled and stepped closer.

“Excuse me,” said Shiro.

Shiro gently pushed an arm before the young man. There was a crinkle of a paper packet, as he squeezed at some baked goods to test the freshness, but – as he made to toss it into his basket – a hand shot out and grasped at his wrist. It was a tight hold. He instinctively tensed and straightened his back, as he slowly turned to gaze at the man. There was no way to see his face with his head hung low and shoulders hunched, but he looked no threat.

It took a yank of his hand to free it from the hold, as he tossed the goods into his basket. He flared his nostrils with a hiss of breath, while he pursed and licked at his lips, and – as he narrowed his eyes – he grabbed at the ring once more. Shiro shook his head and spun around, but a hand clamped down on his shoulder. The skin was soft, but the grip was firm. Long fingers dug against the lapels of his black jacket, until fingernails pressed hard into his collarbone, and he cursed as he jerked the man away and turned once again to face him.

“I – I know that cologne,” whispered the man.

Shiro raised an eyebrow. The man finally lifted his head, where he revealed blue-grey eyes that sparkled with unshed tears and revealed a mixed heritage, and Shiro noted that he was far younger than he previously assumed . . . maybe eighteen at the most, but likely closer to fifteen or sixteen. Shiro shrugged away the hand from his shoulder, before he massaged at the skin with the base of a callused hand. The cybernetic arm buzzed as he winced. He locked eyes with the teenager and stepped back, as he wracked his memory for some recognition.

“I’m sorry,” said Shiro. “I think you have me mistaken for someone else. My brother and I share a strong resemblance, and he’s quite a social person in comparison, but if he’s done something to hurt you or offend you -? I can pass on a message. I don’t mind.”

“I know it’s you, Shiro,” spat the boy.

The aisle grew dark, as his vision dimmed. A cold sweat broke over his skin. Skin swallowed back the hard lump forming in his throat, while his eyes sparked with bursts of colour and his body swayed on the spot with a lack of balance, and – throwing out his cybernetic hand – Shiro grabbed onto a metallic shelf and held tight. He knew from experience not to show fear, because fear was what led to public displays and acts of aggression. He had to be calm.

The fabric of his shirt clung to his sweat-soaked flesh. He darted his eyes about the aisle . . . _security guard a two-minute walk away, a loose shelf that can come away in self-defence, a crowd up ahead that he could be lost within . . ._ Shiro forced low and slow breaths, as his trembling lips formed a broken smile. The organic hand ran through his white-streaked hair, as he rapidly looked the boy over for some defining trait that might jog a memory, but there was nothing that helped. He was growing ever nauseous, as bile burned at his throat.

“You’re mistaking me for someone else,” whispered Shiro.

“No, it’s _you_ ,” spat the boy. “You’re Takeshi Shirogane. You have a twin brother called Kuro, and you recently married a Galra named Kolivan. You were incarcerated for five years after you _raped_ a four-year old, but you only served three with good behaviour, and it’s where you lost your arm when you got attacked by some Galra inmates.”

“I – I don’t want any trouble, Mister . . .?”

“You – You don’t even _remember_ me?” The boy shook his head. “I fucking _clawed_ at your face to get you away from me. I can see the scar clear as day! You must have to look at that scar every single day, but it never helped you to remember me? I was your victim!”

Tears streamed down the boy’s face. They ran over his cheeks and onto his lips, as he hunched forward and clutched at his stomach, and Shiro – gnawing at his cheek until he tasted iron – stepped back and looked him over . . . _Keith_. The past thirteen years had changed him beyond recognition. There was no innocent smile or bounce to his step, but just this – this – this _broken_ attempt at stoicism and strange distance. The fingerless gloves on his hand, every inch of skin covered . . . even his hair covered his neck. Keith choked out:

“How many victims did you have to _forget_ me?”

Shiro recoiled with curled lips, as he clutched at his ring. He shook his head over and over, while words died against his tongue, and the basket knocked against his chest, as his eyes filmed over with unshed tears. The racing of his heart pounded in his ears, until it blocked out all other sound. He cast a look across to the guard. He took in another breath. Shiro forced a smile, as he lifted his hands into a gesture of surrender and pleaded:

“I’m sorry, Keith. I didn’t –”

A fist collided with his cheek. He found no time for self-defence, as he stumbled backward and snatched at a shelf in a desperate need for balance, but – with a white-hot pain searing through his jaw – coloured sparks danced over his vision. The taste of iron filled his mouth, as he spat out blood onto the tiles underfoot. Shiro hunched over, gasping for breath, as a visible mark appeared on his pale skin, and the contents of his basket jostled.

Panic crashed through every vein. The rush of adrenaline burst into his blood, until his mouth ran dry and his heart sounded like a drum, and – as he struggled with breath – every muscle tensed and screamed out in pain. He screwed shut his eyes . . . scenes were bad, whether it was being pinned down in the prison dining hall or facing a nameless crowd in a busy street . . . Shiro bit into his lip as he struggled to fully stand. It was best to stand his ground, show pure confidence, but his eyes already watered and his head grew light.

The guard was between them, pushing at Keith with rough hands. Keith shoved and strove to break his hold, as he spat and kicked towards Shiro, and his face was such a pure shade of red that he was on the verge of a breakdown. Shiro raised both hands in mock surrender, until Keith finally stopped and buried his hands into his hair. He paced with tears falling from his eyes, while the guard could only half-turn with a furrowed brow. The guard asked:

“Do you want me to hold him until the police get here?”

“No,” said Shiro. “No! No police. It’s okay.”

Shiro gripped at the ring around his neck. He thought to the shopping list, already lost and probably lying somewhere about the aisle, and a burning pain seared itself into the skin about his lip, as something warm like drool or blood dripped down his chin. Shiro wiped it away with the back of his hand . . . _police would take statements, know his record, and take him away for questioning . . . there was a risk of being in the papers, a risk of being blacklisted from his local store . . . he couldn’t move home again._ The guard said again in a low voice:

“You’re bleeding, Sir.”

“I’ve had worse in my time,” choked Shiro. “I – I’ll see a first-aider in a little while. You have a first-aider in store, right? This – This is just . . . he’s someone I know from my past, and he – he deserves to get one punch in after some of the things I’ve done. Can – Can you just give us a few minutes, please? I promise we won’t cause any more disturbances.”

“Very well,” said the guard. “I will let you know that we have security cameras in store, so we can provide evidence if you do choose to press charges, and I also personally know this boy’s parents who should still be in store. If you need any help, I will –”

“It’s – It’s fine, honestly. Thank you, though.”

The guard let out a low hiss of breath. He walked towards the end of the aisle, shooing away onlookers who lingered in hopes of seeing a fight, while Keith took in gasping breaths with fingers digging into his scalp, and Shiro remained deathly still in response. There was an uncomfortable silence between them. The holiday music played overhead. Shiro swallowed back bile and blood, as his eyes glanced to the red stain smeared across the back of his hand, and he prayed that Keith would keep a quiet voice. No one needed to overhear them.

“You raped me,” spat Keith.

“That – That was in the past.” Shiro winced. “It was over a decade ago, Keith.”

“ _Not for me_!” Tears fell afresh. “It’s not in the past for me. I – I still can’t touch people with skin-on-skin contact . . . I see how it breaks Allura’s heart that I can’t hug her, how Lance was hurt once when I panicked at an accidental touch . . . I can’t sleep over at my boyfriend’s place, because my screams and night-terrors keep everyone awake. You – You damaged me, too, so I still have scars across my back and I have to see a therapist.”

“That’s good, right? It’s good you’re getting help, Keith. I – I can’t go back in time and undo the damage I did, but I just need you to know that I’m sorry and that I’ve changed . . . I don’t deserve to keep being punished for something I did when I was at a different phase in my life and that is a part of my past. I’ve – I’ve been punished enough for what I did and –”

“They should have given you the death sentence! How is three _fucking_ years enough? You get three years and I get an entire life sentence! You get to shop and laugh and make friends with the guard over there, but I – I – I get panic attacks just walking down the Halloween aisle and seeing . . . seeing the . . . I have to relive it every single year . . .

“Do you know what it’s like to wake up and _feel_ those hands?” Keith swallowed hard. “Do you know what it’s like to be _in_ the moment all over, as if you’re back in time, and it’s all just as real . . . you can smell it and see it and feel it . . . do you know what that’s like? You got three years in prison. You got three years and then you got out, where you can put it all from your memory, but I’ll have this in my _fucking_ brain until the day I die.”

The unshed tears burned at his eyes. They distorted his vision, so that Shiro only saw a shimmering image of his victim and not the reality of the man before him, and he instinctively grabbed at the point where his cybernetic arm met living flesh. He knew too well what flashbacks and night-terrors wrought on the psyche, but he also knew that there was no escape from a self-made prison  any more than one could escape a shadow. Shiro ran his free hand over his face and gave a shuddered sigh. He forced a broken smile.

“I – I’m sorry, Keith,” said Shiro. “I don’t know what else I can say! If it makes you feel better, I promise that I’ve paid my dues and suffered more than I ever thought possible. I was fired from my teaching position at the Garrison, Keith! My – My fiancé dumped me, and then I was also made homeless, and I couldn’t show my face in public without being attacked.”

“You know I was in hospital for _weeks_ , right? Operations, therapy –”

“I also lost my arm, Keith! I was beaten up and stabbed several times, until one day they cornered me in the dining room and _cut off my arm_ while trying to rape me, and I then had to serve the rest of my sentence in solitary . . . solitary for _two-and-a-half years_.”

Shiro screwed shut his eyes. The boredom was worse than the pain . . . years of no guests aside from his therapists, years of no entertainment aside from books . . . the dark realisation that this was something self-inflicted, the fear that this was karma from beyond, and the constant terror that someone may hurt him worse than dismemberment. The weight of the basket felt all the heavier, as the scent of Galra cuisine wafted through the air and the ring on his neck hung like a rock, and he winced as Keith choked out in a whisper:

“So – what – you’ve been punished enough?”

“I did everything I could to reform and rehabilitate,” said Shiro. “I went to therapy every single day. I – I studied about child psychology, even earned a degree . . . I donated money to charities, I worked with police on prevention schemes, I even started to give blood when I ran out of anything else to give back! I’ve done everything I can to fix things.”

“You can’t _fix_ this, Shiro! You can’t fix _me_ with a few lies. It – It’s not like this is a _quid pro quo_ situation . . . it’s not like one rape equals one lost arm, you know? You violated me in the worst possible way, Shiro. I – I only knew – I only knew ‘sex’ as like a special hug between parents, enough that I never even knew people _could_ do it for fun or what was properly involved or that grown-ups all looked different like that. I didn’t know any of it . . .

“I couldn’t even fight you back.” A tear rolled down his cheek. “It still . . . it still effects me, because I can’t even so much as wear a tight sweater without feeling restrained, and I _want_ to go the next level with Lotor, but every time he goes near _there_ -? I just tense. It closes up and it gets so painful that I could cry, and nothing _works_ . . . I just want to go back in time and change everything, but it goes around and around and around in my head . . .

“If – If I just – If I just stayed home like Lance told me . . . I don’t know, maybe it’s better that it was me and not someone else, right? If something like that happened to Alfor, I think it’d break me . . . still, what if I didn’t fight back, what if I’d loosened up, what if I’d just tried to enjoy it instead of getting beaten and torn and bruised? I – I just . . . I just want . . .”

Keith shoved his palms into his eyes. A couple walked past them, pausing with a few looks between their awkward and emotionally distraught expressions, before one coughed and took something from the Altean section and walked quickly away with a low head. Keith sniffed and sighed, as a broken laugh escaped his lips. He would not make eye contact. A part of Shiro wanted to reach out to him, as a form of comfort, but he looked so edgy . . . so jumpy . . . as if even a cold word might cause him to scream or faint.

The weight of the basket was lessened, as he slid it into both hands, and – fidgeting with his fingers around the handles – Shiro thought instead to the home-cooked meal awaiting him back home and the desert he promised to make with Kuro . . . Kolivan grunting and moaning about his workload, while sliding a glass of wine across the table . . . Keith was right that it was more than he deserved. Shiro breathed deep and said:

“I can’t go back in time, Keith.”

Keith scoffed and kicked hard at the tiles. He stopped with hands fisted at his sides, until his knuckles turned white and veins bulged, and his blue-grey eyes narrowed with pinprick pupils, while his lip curled to reveal sharp canine teeth. Shiro stepped back, while he glanced down into his basket and drew in a deep breath. There was no easy solution. He found enough courage to run a hand through his hair, as he managed to ask:

“What do you want from me?”

_One step . . . two steps . . ._

The warm breath could be felt against his face, as Keith stood on tiptoes with eyes locked on Shiro with an intensity that stole his breath away, and – as Shiro jerked backward – Keith threw a hand out to grasp tight onto the lapels of his jacket. The curled lip spoke of great disgust and rage, while the guard was already racing back towards them, but the world around them fell still and quiet and only the two of them existed in that moment.

“I want you to feel _exactly_ what I felt,” spat Keith.

Shiro flinched. The fist finally released its hold. Keith dropped to his knees with a loud thud, while he wept into his hands with huge wracked sobs, and – as the guard stood confused and unsure who to assist – a familiar face appeared at the end of the aisle. A brown-haired and brown-skinned man stood with a trolley filled to the brim with food, and just beside him a small child poked out his head and pointed towards Keith with a look of concern.

Lance lifted the child and ran towards them. He practically dropped to his knees and skidded along the tiles, as he dropped the child beside them and threw his arms around Keith, and in the distance a dark-skinned woman took the trolley and headed towards them. Shiro stepped back. The only sounds were whispered words in another language, while Keith alternated between laughter and tears, and something inside Shiro broke . . . the walls were closing in on him, while the fear caused his stomach to churn . . . it was all his fault.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Shiro.

He practically ran to the checkout, while keeping his head low the entire time. The basket seemed to double in weight, as he dropped it onto the conveyer belt, and every word uttered to him was lost and confused and incoherent to his mind, while he struggled to ground himself in a moment of such terror. He struggled to see through his blurred and spinning vision, while he fought to smile at the assistant as best as he could . . .

Shiro blinked away his tears.


	3. Chapter Two

_‘You’ve got the wrong guy’._

_Kuro raised both his hands. He gripped tighter to the pole, as the bus rocked back-and-forth on its long journey down an otherwise empty road. The movements were steady and rhythmic, while people coughed and laughed in various seats, and the plastic bags of food at his feet rustled every time the bus jostled on a speed-bump. A group of men stood around him, each one cracking their knuckles or chuckling like some sitcom villain._

_He rolled his eyes, while throwing back his shoulders. Kuro locked eyes with one who appeared Galra in nature, as they passed through an urban area with graffiti over every surface and police cars crowded on one corner, and – with quite a few stops to their suburban house – Kuro bit into his lip and glanced out the window. It was another good ten stops, with a large stretch of country road in between, and Kuro sighed with a callused hand scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck._

_One man shoved at his shoulder. Another muttered various words . . . ‘ponce’, ‘kiddie fiddler’ . . . the accent was unfamiliar, but there were clear Altean markings on his cheeks. A few seconds passed as another kicked at the bags by his feet, which sent an apple hurtling across the dirty floor until it landed by a child’s foot. The child kicked it back. Kuro knelt down to put it back in the bag, as another guy stomped on his back._

_‘Okay, I_ really _need you to stop that,’ warned Kuro._

_Kuro stood tall. He flared his nostrils and narrowed his eyes, while he turned his gaze from face to face with a slow – yet focussed – attention, and he quirked his lips into a half-smile, as his hands fisted until his knuckles turned white. One slapped him. It was followed by laughter from the others, as his head shot to the side . . . his heart raced, a cold sweat broke over his skin . . .  Kuro spat onto the ground, as he kept his head low and sneered:_

_‘I told you that you’ve got the wrong guy.’_

_He slowly lifted his head, as a smirk broke his features. A red veil dropped over his vision, as the following few minutes descended into chaos and violence, and his hand moved of its own accord . . . punch, slap, scratch . . . he stopped only when the adrenaline faded and his eyesight returned, while panting for breath as he spat again to the ground. There was a cold silence about the bus. It pulled to a stop. Kuro rapidly blinked, as he saw blood spattered across his knuckles and the several bodies groaning on the dirty floor. He pointed to his face._

_‘No scar, see,’ said Kuro._

_A low sigh escaped his lips. Kuro snatched at his bags, before racing from the bus and out onto the streets, where – checking the stop – he began a slow walk towards the suburban area with his head hung low to avoid any attention. The bus stayed still, while chaos descended inside and someone rang for help. He knew the drill: police, interrogations, no charges. They never pushed charges. It was always self-defence . . ._

* * *

It was ruined.

The garage-doors were not long replaced. A dent in his wallet attested to that fact, as did various tools still scattered around the bushes that lined each side of the drive, and an oily rag lay before one with various stains that expanded out onto the driveway itself, but there was little pride at the latest renovation bought with hard-earned wages. The scent of paint was still too heavy in the air, while it ran down the white boards of the door like blood.

There was just one word: ‘paedophile’.

Shiro clutched his shopping to his chest, as the word continued to trickle downward. It would take a great deal of time and money to paint over the insult, while Kolivan would insist on keeping the doors open until it was painted over, and Kuro would insist on moving to some place where no one knew their names, but . . . it would start all over again. Each year the parents would search to see which houses were ‘safe’. Each year they knew . . .

He drew in a deep breath. The bile burned at the back of his throat, while he swallowed what formed and struggled to control the tremble to his lips, and – with his eyes watering with tears – he noted too well the eggshells and yolks that stained the white paint around the word that was forever etched into his memory. He pressed the button on the keychain. The garage doors locked, protecting his car inside from any vandalism, but the words would still be there for everyone to lay witness. It was a testament to his past misdeeds.

Shiro kept his head low, as he strode quickly towards the house. A few brochures sat on the porch-swing . . . _external security cameras, home alarms, state-of-the-art locks_. . . a few were marked with a red pen, which noted various numbers and prices, and another was dog-eared and torn in various places. Shiro sighed and snatched them up, even as his heart raced and his vision grew spotted, and he quickly looked about to make sure he was alone. The floodlight above illuminated their entire front property. The shadows were ominous.

It took a long minute to scan the gardens and driveway, but there was truly no one in sight and the gated community led to a limited number of intruders, and yet – despite that – the word still stood on his garage door as a stark reminder of the potential danger. He quickly unlocked the door and darted inside; the door slammed shut behind him, as he flung himself back against it with a heavy sigh and slid down the ground, and yet he still was not safe.

“Guys, I’m home,” called Shiro.

He sniffed and wiped at his nose, while he gave a broken laugh. It fell from his lips against his will, even as he rubbed at his eyes and warm tears brushed against his skin, and he struggled to climb to his feet, even as he focussed on the voices afar. They were raised and aggressive, with one particularly loud and overtaking the other. Shiro smiled. He shook his head and slapped at his cheeks, as he let loose a low groan and strove to gain his focus.  

Shiro lifted his head high. The photographs along the hallway walls smiled down on him, with Kuro and Shiro ageing from childhood into adulthood the further he walked, until the photographs featured Kuro alone as he hopped from uniform to uniform and place to place. It was not long until he reached the largest photograph, framed in gold and surrounded by smaller images of family and friends all in formal attire . . . Kolivan and Shiro locked in a warm embrace before an Earthling altar . . . Shiro smiled and paused.

“Yo, Shiro,” a voice called. “Hurry up, will you?”

He brought a hand to his chest, only to be blocked by the bags. Shiro shook his head with a chuckle, before walking directly into the kitchen and dropping them onto the marble countertop of the island, before grabbing for his ring and bringing it to his lips. The rich aroma of Galra cuisine filled the air, as someone grunted by the oven and bent low to fuss with something inside, and the blast of heat – strong and dry – was a small comfort from the cold night air outside. Shiro walked close to his husband.

A second grunt followed, as Kolivan removed the meat thermometer. He stood and wiped it clean on an old tea-towel, before he placed it down on its side and threw his arms around Shiro, pulling him flush against a muscular chest covered in Galra attire. It brought instant relief, as Shiro fell limp against him and closed his eyes, and together they simply swayed for a few minutes until someone let loose a throat-clearing cough from across the kitchen.

“No ‘hello’ for me, then,” muttered Kuro.

Shiro pulled away with a short laugh. He wiped away the tears from his eyes, while Kolivan laid a trail of kisses to his cheeks to mark each and every one that fell, and Kuro simply winced as he watched and awkwardly waved towards them. The frown on his features spoke of great concern, as he sat with legs spread on a stool and fidgeted with his hands on the island countertop. He picked at the skin between his fingers. A red graze stretched across his knuckles, which drew a long sigh from Shiro, as he called across to Kuro:

“Sorry, it’s been a long day.”

“You noticed the writing on the garage doors,” said Kolivan.

“It was hard to miss,” teased Shiro. “I – I will admit that just made things worse. How long do I have to keep going through this? I doubt anyone else has to spend so much money on house security, but then . . . I guess it’s ironic. . . _I’m_ the threat and _I’m_ the risk, but I’m the one that has to protect his home from everyone else. It’s – It’s justice, isn’t it?”

“Like _fuck_ is it justice,” spat Kuro. “You know what real justice is? It’s standing trial before a jury of your peers. It’s serving your time deemed appropriate by a judge. What these bastards are doing isn’t any more than vigilantism and taking the law into their own hands.”

“They’re right, though, aren’t they? I didn’t exactly suffer enough. I –”

“You suffered more than most, Shiro. That’s enough.”

The tears threatened to spill once again. They blurred his vision and distorted the artificial lights, while Kolivan came behind him and massaged at his shoulders, and the callused thumbs pressed deep into the knots of tense muscles, forcing his head to loll and a low moan to escape his dried lips. It was so easy to forget the outside world, but still the image of Keith stayed present in his mind . . . _weeping on the floor, face red with tears, shivering in fear . . ._ it was a sight he would never forget. Shiro found enough breath to whisper:

“It still doesn’t equal what Keith went through.”

A sigh escaped Kolivan, as he gently led Shiro to a stool. He was sat beside Kuro, who lightly kicked his shin with a teasing remark, and – as tears fell once more – Kuro changed his composure and squeezed at Shiro’s knees, leaving both hands there with a frown. The whirring of the oven fans echoed about the kitchen, while the radio hummed out an old tune from the dining room, but the sounds proved little distractions from the racing of his heart and the numbness to his limbs. Shiro hung his head low and muttered:

“Can a person be redeemed from something like that?”

“No one but God can say,” said Kolivan.

“I just – I just feel that nothing I do is enough.” Shiro wiped a hand over his face. “I would give anything to make it go away, but every time – _every time_ – I think I’m finally making progress and moving forward . . . what’s the point, you know? What’s the point in trying to be good, because no one will ever see me as anything more than a monster.”

“No. No, don’t you talk like that,” interrupted Kuro. “I was in and out of juvenile detention all the time as a kid . . . everyone wrote me off, especially Pops . . . you were the one who told me that I would only be proving them right if I gave up on myself, and that the only thing that mattered is what _I_ thought about myself. If I listened to everyone else, I’d probably still be in jail right now, but you got my life back on track. You never gave up on me.”

“That’s different, Kuro. You never –”

“Look, I might not have the best job ever. I might be stuck delivering pizzas and cleaning floors, but I’m _earning_ my money and I’m contributing to society . . . no fights, no dealing, and no stealing . . . it’s like – it’s like those people _want_ you to continue offending, because then they have a legitimate reason to be angry or something. They want you to be a bad guy, so they get an excuse to be dicks. You’re better than them, Shiro.”

“Kuro is right,” added Kolivan. “Do you really wish to become the monster they claim? You are better than that and you have paid your dues, enough that I have seen the man you were and the man you became, and I know – without doubt – my husband is a man with potential for greatness beyond greatness. There is no man alive without some sin.”

“But very few men with a sin like mine,” said Shiro.

A child laughed from outside. It was quickly hushed as an adult yelled, so that Shiro could almost picture them being dragged away by a strong hand, and he knew that no one would knock their door that Halloween, even if they dared to put out decorations. The children would walk quickly past him home, while any twitch of a window would be seen as ‘ogling’ young flesh with a perverse eye, and he would be expected to remain firmly indoors.

It also only emphasised the quiet in their home . . .  Kolivan in his forties, when most Gala considered settling down and rearing children, and an empty room between the master bedroom and Kuro’s room, still decorated with fairyland scenes from the previous owner . . . a reminder of a world beyond his reach. There were four chairs around the dining table, but only three sets of cutlery and three placemats. There were novels all around the library, but picture books gathering dust in the attic. He ran a hand through his hair.

“I always wanted a family,” said Shiro.

Kuro half-closed his eyes and pulled back his hands. The absence of touch left a cold spot on his knees, even as Kolivan pulled up a chair beside him and wrapped arms around his shoulders, and – even with that warm embrace – Shiro fixated his eyes on the one who pulled away with a frown marring their lips. Kolivan pressed a kiss to his hair. A long few minutes passed, until Kuro slapped a hand back on his knee and squeezed again, before he forced a smile and leaned in close to the couple lost in their embrace.

“You still could have kids,” chirped Kuro.

“Your knuckles are bruised.” Shiro smiled and shook his head. “Did someone mistake you as me again? I can’t send a child out into that world, even if social services would let me, and I can’t live in fear of who will hurt _my_ child just to get revenge on me, because people would think that justice, wouldn’t they? An eye for an eye. That’s how they think . . .”

“An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, Shiro.”

“It’s true, though. It hurts me every time . . . you have to suffer for _my_ sins, all because we shared the same egg for a short while. I – I just – I just can’t keep doing this, Kuro! I can’t keep seeing the people I love hurt over and over again, while everyone just waits for me to make a mistake, and I don’t want to slip up and hurt anyone. I don’t want to be that man again. I just . . . I just don’t see an out. I just want the pain to stop.”

Shiro pulled away from them both. He walked slowly towards the kitchen windows, where the wind picked up outside and rustled the hedges, and a beautiful rain of leaves fell from the trees and danced in the air before him. He half-smiled and leaned against the countertop. A flash of light sent shadows down the side of his home, as the floodlight came on at the front of the house, and – with a sigh – he headed towards the lounge, where he peeked outside the panes of glass and saw two teenagers running off on sight of him. Kuro followed him.

Nothing was said, as Kuro stood beside him. The silence was comfortable, with the hand on his shoulder a reminder of the family around him, and together they waited for the lights to die down before they headed to the sofa and sat before the fireplace. Kolivan grabbed a blanket from a nearby armchair, as he draped it over the two brothers and pressed another kiss to Shiro’s temple, and sat on Shiro’s side with a smile. He pulled Shiro close.

“I can handle myself,” said Kuro.

“Do you know I saw Keith today?” Shiro shrugged. “I ran into him in the supermarket. I didn’t even recognise him when I saw him, but he recognised me . . . after all these years . . . _he recognised me_. It’s like the trauma is still with him. He broke down and collapsed in the store, like he just couldn’t cope any longer, and it was my fault . . . I was still hurting him.

“What happens if Keith becomes too afraid to leave his house? What happens if someone kills you thinking that it’s me? What happens when Kolivan starts to yearn for a family? I’m just this hindrance to everyone and I can’t stop any of that! I’ll do anything to make it better and make it go away and make it just . . . just . . . just _stop_. It never leaves me; I know it’s only fair, as it never leaves Keith either, but I can’t stand it any longer.”

“Shiro, want me to call your therapist about it all?”

“I wanted us to speak to your therapist anyway,” said Kolivan. “I noticed you were looking at inappropriate materials . . . _legal_ , yes, but inappropriate . . . I do not want you to look at such cartoon images or fictional works in this state. They may be a cathartic release at any other time, but – in your current condition – I worry this may be a form of self-harm and self-sabotage, and you have made such grand progress through these years, my love.”

Shiro blushed and buried his head against Kolivan. The foundation of complete and honest communication was an immense help in his darker moments, but he wanted nothing less than to discuss his . . . _private materials_ in front of his twin brother. A low chuckle escaped from Kuro, who reached beneath the blankets to massage his feet with only the minimum of jokes about his web history and comic collection. Kolivan ran his fingers through his hair, while Shiro listened to the slow and steady heartbeat that reverberated around that chest.

“I promise I’ll talk to someone,” swore Shiro.

“If you need to talk in the meantime, I am your husband and I am a counsellor.” Kolivan smiled. “I will not see you suffer alone. Kuro – for all his faults – is a good brother and one who will also support you without conditions. You are not alone here.”

“He’s right,” added Kuro. “You have us and we’re going nowhere.”

“You have potential, Shiro. You can be redeemed.”

A low murmur echoed through the lounge. He closed his eyes with a half-formed smile, while his fingers played with the hem of the blanket, and Kuro continued to press soft fingers into the soles of his feet, while the heartbeat slowly lulled him into a slumber. It was peaceful and quiet, with dinner so close to being prepared, and – for the first time in a long time – Shiro felt his muscles unclench and his breaths come slow and deep.

It was a moment of peace soon broken.

Shiro jolted upright, as the lounge window smashed. There was a burst of light from outside, followed by the devastatingly loud shattering of glass pieces, and the thud of something heavy as it struck the carpet and bounced only a few feet from them. Kuro cursed and rubbed at his eyes, as some dust or glass irritated his cornea. A group of teenagers laughed from outside, only to run as the security guards chased after them, and a cold draught blasted through the fresh hole only to bring the autumn wind hurtling into their home.

The adrenaline coursed through every vein. Shiro clenched at his heart, while his head spun and his vision became blurred, and – swaying where he sat – Kolivan was at once on his feet in an attempt to gather the brick without contaminating any evidence, while Kuro was measuring up the window in one hand and calling the police in another. They could have been hit . . . _they could have been killed_. . . the brick was meant for him.

“It’s never going to end,” whispered Shiro.

Shiro could stand it no longer. He broke down in a fit of tears, as he collapsed against the sofa cushions and clawed at the fabric with trembling hands, and every breath . . . choked, broken . . . brought drool and bile dripping from his lips, until it was all he could taste and all he knew in his moment of weakness. Kolivan ran to his side, dragging him against his chest, but Shiro could only chant . . . _‘no, no, no’_. . . it was his fault . . . it was his fault they lived in terror and were no longer safe in their own home. He wept. He screamed.

He cried until there were no tears left to shed.  


	4. Chapter Three

_‘Talk to us, my son.’_

_Allura ran her hands through soft hair. The black locks parted like water, as she hummed a low tune at his side, and the warmth of his breath made its way through her skirts, as he rested his head upon her lap and toyed with the seam in an old habit. A blanket lay draped over his form, emphasising the foetal position, and the intricate patterns moulded themselves elegantly around his body, as a true testament to Coran’s sewing abilities._

_A soft glow from the television sent flickers of light across the lounge, while Lance sat cross-legged on the shagged carpet. Alfor – suckling his thumb, eyelids fluttering – slept curled on the armchair behind, with one hand clutching at Lance’s brown hair. Any time Lance tried to move, Alfor would instinctively clench his hand. A litany of ‘ouch, ouch, ouch’ echoed about every so often. Allura giggled and shook her head. The small breaths from Keith were the only reminder that one son still lay awake, as air hissed through flared nostrils._

_‘I think I want to talk to Shiro,’ muttered Keith._

_Allura froze. The fingers in Keith’s hand paused, while her heart skipped a beat and mouth ran dry, and – with a quick snap of her head – eyes locked on Lance with a sheen of water already forming as tears threatened to fall over her flushed cheeks. Lance let loose a shuddered breath and ran his hands over his mouth, while he stared aimlessly upward at the ceiling with a pale face and pursed lips, but there was no comfort in his shared concern. A few long seconds passed before Allura could find strength to ask:_

_‘Do you think that a good idea, Keith?’_

_‘I spent my whole life asking questions.’ Keith sniffed. ‘I always wanted to know why me and what I did to deserve it, you know? I thought maybe Lance and Lotor could come with me, so I have that emotional support, but I – I need to know! I need to know what drove him to hurt me and why they let him back out onto the streets. I need some answers.’_

_‘The important part about closure is knowing you may not get answers, as well as to be okay with that fact, but I worry that any ‘answers’ given will not be what you wish to hear, which shall only spurn you further in your quest for some external source of validation. You want for someone to give you a reason that will bring sense to all matters. You want for someone to make you feel safe and secure. These are things you must look within to find.’_

_‘If I look within, I’ll break.’ A tear ran down Keith’s cheek. ‘I’ve had enough looking within, because all that’s there are bad memories and old fears. If I look within, there’s only a little boy being raped by a total stranger, and . . . I don’t want to forever be a victim. I want to be a survivor, but I feel like I’m still this child inside. I need answers.’_

_‘What if you never get answers?’ Lance asked. ‘I’ll go with you, yeah, but I don’t want this to reopen old wounds and make you feel all the more helpless, just because you didn’t get what you wanted and maybe Shiro . . . maybe he still has some power over you.’_

_‘What the fuck is that supposed to mean?’_

_Keith jolted upright. A dark flush crossed his cheeks, as his lip curled and eyes narrowed, but Lance – with a simple sigh – merely extricated himself from Alfor’s grasp, before climbing to his feet and scooping the small boy into his arms, blanket and all. He did not look to Keith. It was a choice that paid well; Keith tightened his hands into fists, as knuckles turned white, but he soon scoffed and dropped back down onto the sofa. The thud of his head on her lap was a little painful, but she simply continued to stroke at his hair. He relaxed his muscles._

_‘It means he only has as much power over you as you give him,’ continued Lance. ‘You’re not a kid any more, so you can fight back physically and stuff, but that doesn’t mean he can’t hurt you if he’s verbally cruel to you, Keith. Promise me that you won’t let him hurt you?’_

_Lance turned and cocked his head. Alfor bounced a little in his arms, with a trail of drool running from his lips and down his cheek, and Allura chuckled to see him so deeply asleep, even as her hands trembled and a cold sweat broke over her form. Every breath made her dress cling sickly close to her back. Lance drew in a deep breath and turned to them, as he forced a shaking smile and visibly smiled, before he pleaded:_

_‘Keith, I need you to –’_

_‘I can’t promise anything, Lance.’_

_A long few second passed, as Keith stared numbly ahead. The subtle rises and falls of his chest were the only indication of life, while his hand gripped a little tighter against her dress, and the sensation of moisture proved silent tears poured forth from his eyes. Allura closed her eyes and lowered her head. A ticking from a far clock marked the passage of time, as Lance squeezed at the small bundle in his arms and breathed deep, and Keith could only roll over and wipe away his tears with the back of his sleeve. Keith choked out:_

_‘I can’t promise anything.’_

* * *

Shiro sat upright . . .

The sofa creaked beneath him, as the blankets slid to his waist. He was still dressed in full attire, albeit now creased and wrinkled in various places, but someone had removed his shoes and socks, which were placed neatly at the foot of the sofa. A ray of light shone through the windows, settling against his cybernetic arm, and it reflected enough to leave burning afterimages against his retinas. He blinked them away and rubbed at his eyes.

It was still mostly dark in the lounge. A large wooden board blocked the centre of the window, while a sticky-note clung to its surface with messy writing that listed a time for the repairman, and a small pile of shattered glass sat on the windowsill, where it waited to be swept away into a bin at a later date. The coffee-table sat beside him, where another sticky-note listed the time for the security cameras to be installed, but this time the writing was so neat that it may have easily been a photograph of a font upon a screen. Shiro smiled.

A silver tray sat on the table, but covered with various luxuries. The cup of coffee still steamed, sending waves of clouds into the air, and it was served in a glass cup that exposed its various layers and the cream on top, enough to make his mouth water. He wiped at his eyes, which were sore and bloodshot from previous tears. A handful of homemade cakes sat on small saucers, with homemade jam melting into the still warm sponge.

“You are awake,” whispered Kolivan.

Shiro craned his head towards the hallway. He smiled to see Kolivan with a large plate in hand, where an awful attempt an a stuffed-pastry lay for all to bear witness, and – to make matters worse – it was shaped like a person with slits for facial features. The stuffing leaked out through those slits, making the poor creature look like it was spewing bodily liquids from eyes and nose and mouth, and Shiro struggled to hold back his laughter.

Kolivan rolled his eyes and handed him the plate, where another messy post-it note sat at the edges of the ceramics with barely a decipherable message: _‘I wanted to make a treat to cheer you up, but I think this might scare you instead, sorry’._ Shiro chanced a bite from a misshapen ‘leg’, only to find that the taste was perfect . . . no problems, no concerns . . . if he hadn’t looked at the deformed ‘man’, he may have easily believed it a professional dish from any five-star bakery, and yet it was hard to believe that such an item edible.

“Thank you,” said Shiro.

“Why do you thank me, Husband?”

“You humoured Kuro for one thing.” Shiro smiled. “He’s been bugging you about housework ‘not really being work’, so I figured he was lashing out as he wanted to try a few chores for himself, and he’s always admired you and looked up to you. I’m guessing he demanded to make something, because you were making something, and he made . . . this?”

“It was a valid first attempt,” said Kolivan.

“Ah, I don’t mean to insult his effort! I’m just saying that I bet the kitchen is a _mess_ , as I doubt he would have cleaned up before work, and you probably had to clean up after him, make me this breakfast, and then wake me up. You did all that for me.”

“I would do anything for you, Shiro. You always believe yourself so unworthy of love, but you have spent every moment since release trying to please others. I have seen you essentially parent Kuro and guide him to a better life, just as I have seen you act as a pillar of stability for me when I had no one to lean upon, and so I feel you deserve some reward.”

“I don’t try to help you guys just to be rewarded,” said Shiro.

“And that is _why_ you deserve them, my love.”

The sofa dipped as Kolivan sat beside him. Shiro instinctively clung to Kolivan, pressing his hands flat against a muscled chest with a faint blush, while Kolivan gently cupped his chin and angled his face until his throat was exposed . . . a low growl sent shivers down his spine . . . the rough pad of a finger traced at his pulse, while chapped lips pressed against his jawbone, and Shiro mewled with a vulnerable expression of desire. It was not long before their lips finally met, as a deep and passionate kiss consumed each of them . . .

A knock sounded at the door.

Shiro cursed and pulled back. He glanced downward to see the start of an erection, which he willed away with closed eyes and deep breaths, and yet Kolivan chuckled and stood with no sign of discomfort or arousal, as his Galra attire hid his groin region. They remained in silence for a few passing seconds, until Shiro stood in turn and shouted that they would be right with their guests, and he sighed as he pressed a chaste kiss to a furred cheek.

“That must be the repairman,” said Kolivan.

A second knock followed, enough that Kolivan stepped forward. It was one further chore for one already juggling a career alongside a home-life, especially after having done so much that morning already for Shiro, and – unable to see him put out any further – Shiro gently took his wrist and held him back, before he darted towards the door. The soft chuckle of his husband followed after him, as he unlocked the door and flung it wide open.

He froze. Shiro stumbled back. The reaction was instant, leaving him no time to mentally prepare, and – swaying on his feet – Shiro barely felt as large hands grasped at his upper arms to hold him in place, while the room span with his eyes unable to focus. It took all his strength to breathe deep to a slow count, while he focussed on the beating on his heart. He remembered the words of his therapist, of Kolivan, of Kuro . . . _‘patience yields focus’_. . . it did little to calm him, as he found enough self-control to stand without support.

Kolivan stayed close behind Shiro. It was enough to feel the warmth of his chest, as Shiro forced a smile and cast his eyes toward Keith. There was a strange man next to him, clad in Galra attire and yet with Altean features, and the hair he wore was a beautiful silver shade, which ran down to his waist without any imperfections. Keith kept his head low, dressed in casual attire and kicking hard at the stone porch with disinterest. Shiro asked:

“Does Lance know you’re here?”

A low scoff escaped Keith’s lips, as he lifted his gaze. The bloodshot eyes spoke of sleepless nights, complete with bags that were black as night, and his skin was deathly pale despite the bright sunlight outside, as he curled his lip with sharp teeth bared. A deathly silence followed. There was no one else in sight, as most of the neighbouring houses were away to work, and no cars would have been allowed entry without a pass, but that did leave the question how Keith made his way past the guards even on foot. Keith shrugged and rolled his eyes.

“I have his permission,” said Keith.

“Look, I don’t know how you made it past the gates, but – if you’re here to cause trouble – you need to know the guards respond very quickly to any danger. I also don’t feel comfortable having any discussion without Lance. He’s your guardian, right? I know you’re nearly eighteen, but I don’t want to be responsible for triggering or upsetting you.”

“I decided to come alone, in the end.” Keith shrugged again. “He’s waiting outside the gates in his car, so I can get him if it’s a problem for you, but I didn’t think I could have a real conversation with you if he was – you know – listening. I wanted it to be private.”

“Okay, so how did you get inside?”

“Lotor – _er_ , this is Lotor, by the way. Lotor has an aunt that lives a few doors down from you, so she gave him a pass and we were allowed entry inside, and . . . and I’ve been able to tell him stuff, more than I could tell Lance or the police, and I trust him completely with anything he hears, because he already knows everything that happened anyway, you know?”

Shiro reached for the ring at his chest. The metal pressed itself into his palm, as he drew in slow and deep breaths, and he stepped forward onto the porch to look down the road, where – just outside the gates – a man chatted with the guard with animated gestures. The man gave a thumb up, as Shiro awkwardly waved to acknowledge the unspoken permission.  A cold chill ran down his spine. He stepped back into his hallway, where the morning light struck at a baby-photo shared with Kuro, and he struggled to focus his eyesight, as he asked:

“What do you want from me, Keith?”

A squeak echoed out, as Keith kicked at the porch with his shoe. He kept his head low and his hands in his pockets, while Lotor placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, and – with a sudden burst of confidence – Keith rolled back his shoulders and lifted his head. A woman walked by the front lawn, with her eyes strangely fixated on them, but walked slowly towards the gates as Keith visibly swallowed. Shiro followed her with his eyes. Keith murmured:

“I just want to talk about why you . . . you . . .”

The woman waved to Lance, who was let through and embraced her with warmth, and together they headed towards her home, while Shiro let loose a shuddered breath and rapidly blinked, as he gestured the two young men inside. A glance to the clock revealed the slowly ticking hands over the mantelpiece, as he mentally calculated how long until Lance began to worry or the aunt called for a guard . . . was ten minutes too long . . . five . . .?

Shiro remained fixed in place. They moved around him with awkward shuffles and dexterous movements, as they avoided any and all contact, and he listened as they were guided to the sofas by Kolivan, who quickly darted away to find more cups and plates. A cold draught blew from the open doorway, as Shiro stared aimlessly ahead . . . seeing without seeing . . . _a trickle of coffee, a forced compliment, a knife on porcelain_ . . . Shiro shook his head. He took in a quick breath. The world fell back into place, as he closed the door with a smile.

He walked slowly towards Kolivan, who sat on the sofa with coffee in hand. The cushions dipped as he lowered himself into their folds, while his eyes fixed on the corner of the tray with an unwavering focus, and he only jolted back to reality with a single touch, as Kolivan held his hand with a gentle grip. Keith kept his head low. The silence between them was broken only by the clock and the wind outside, while the room remained ever dark.

“Do you want me to call Lance?” Shiro asked.

“You were Lance’s friend, right?” Keith blinked back his tears. “He told me that you taught him at the Garrison for a while. You were his hero. I remember him saying that he always wanted to be like you, enough it’s what inspired him to be a teacher, but he ended up teaching the non-military classes at the Garrison, for those that want more to stay on Earth.”

“Lance was a kid with a lot of potential,” said Shiro. “He stayed as a boarding school student, if I remember right, but he’d always sneak out after curfew. I remember he trained to be a fighter pilot after another student dropped out; I’m surprised he became a civilian teacher.”

“The military lost its lustre after you raped his charge.”

“Keith, I really can’t cope with –”

“No, you don’t get to ignore me! Look, Lance and Allura were against me coming here, because they thought I might be opening old wounds . . . like I would traumatise myself all over again or like this could make matters worse, but . . . I think they trusted me to make my own decisions. If I didn’t ask you, I think I’d always regret it. I need to know.”

Keith took in a slow breath. He rolled back his shoulders and lifted his head, while his eyes briefly closed and nostrils flared, and brief memories flashed back of guided meditation, as Shiro caught the few subtle signs of one trying to relax every muscle. A few seconds passed with the ever louder ticking of the clock, before Keith turned with an uneasy smile. It never reached his eyes. Keith shrugged and asked with a quiet and broken voice:

“Why did you do it, Shiro?”

A sharp wince overtook Shiro, as he grabbed at his ring. Kolivan squeezed at his other hand, grounding him in the moment with a firm touch, and Shiro took slow and deep breaths as he locked eyes with Keith, only to see tears threatening to spill forth over his cheeks. The other young man – Lotor – wrapped an arm around sharp shoulders. He pulled Keith close, even as he glared at Shiro with a curled lip and narrowed eyes, and he could not have made his Galra lodge more obvious than in those brief expressions. Shiro turned his gaze away.

“You claim to have grown in prison,” said Lotor. “You paid a price with your arm, but I can understand the concern of Keith regarding the matter, as can we honestly say that a lesson has been learned? He fears that you may harm another child. I fear that you shall harm _him_. I know that people can grow and evolve, but is there anything you can say to reassure him?”

“You want to know about why I changed?” Shiro shook his head. “It was a long process, to be honest. I – I’m ashamed to admit that I only cared about getting caught, at least at first, and I was just _terrified_ about how people would react and how it might come back at me, because I stood to lose everything . . . _everything_. . . I was right on the edge of a cliff, looking down into this abyss, and just terrified of that moment when I might fall.

“It was like permanent vertigo. I tried so desperately to make excuses, just – I don’t know – lying about everything as I tried to minimise the damage . . . Adam – my fiancé – dumped me, right about the time I lost my job at the Garrison, my friends disowned me . . . heck, even Kuro lost his job as people would mistake him for me at work. I remember them coming to the verdict of ‘guilty’. It was like something broke inside me, like everything shattered . . .

“The shame and guilt hit me hard, enough that I finally realised . . .  _I was wrong_. It was something I knew cognitively, because the law is the law and you would have to be blind to the reaction of society to such topics, but emotionally was a whole other mess, as I kept trying to justify it and rationalise it, like I could be the exception somehow.”

“You don’t have to carry on, Shiro,” whispered Kolivan.

“No, they – they need to hear this,” said Shiro.

Shiro ran both hands over his face. He heaved a long sigh, while the scent of coffees grew a little fainter as the day slowly progressed, and the blankets behind him still smelled a little with sweat from a restless night with nightmares and a low fever. Kolivan stroked at his back, as he hummed low enough that only Shiro could make out the old tune. He smiled through his tears. Lotor toyed with some homemade cookies, while Keith stared emptily into his coffee, and Shiro could only listen to his racing heart, as it pounded in his ears. Keith asked:

“How could you not _feel_ it wrong?”

“I guess that links into why I did it,” muttered Shiro. “You wanted to know why and how I changed, is that right? Let me – Let me just take it all one thing at a time, okay? I don’t want to get things mixed around in my head. Look, first of all -? They sent me to therapy while I was in prison, which is actually where I met Kolivan, and it’s where I learnt the basics about how to develop healthy coping mechanisms and the reasons why I abused you.

“It was mostly about control; there was a mission years back that went wrong, which left me with post-traumatic stress, and since then I’ve had this anger and confusion and just kept lashing out at the world around me, but I also had an attraction to minors. It – It wasn’t an exclusive attraction, and I even kept it under control for a lot of years, but things kind of came to a head that night. Kolivan helped me a lot, and we even became friends over time, and having someone believe I could get better -? It gave me motivation.

“They let me have visits after a while, too. Kolivan found me a new therapist, after a conflict of interests and issues with ethics, but he would visit me between my visits with Kuro, and just having unconditional support made me feel like I had a reason to be a better person. I started to study child psychology, so I would understand exactly what I did and the damage inflicted, and I worked on understanding my actions and triggers.”

“Great, so you know _why_ you did it,” said Keith. “That fixes everything.”

“No, you’re right, it fixed nothing, but it gave me the _foundations_ I needed” Shiro sighed. “It was around that time when Sendak cornered me in prison, where he and his friends pinned me down, and . . . you know what . . . I was scared when they started sawing into my arm, but the _true_ terror came when they tried to rape me. It would have been perfect justice, having done to me what I did to you, but I was so _fucking scared_. . . I was scared . . .”

The air grew cold around him, as a sweat broke over his skin. The pounding of his heart continued . . . _bang, bang, bang . . ._ every beat brought forth an encroaching dizzy spell, as the room spun around him and his fingers tingled. He pushed himself upward, before he wandered over to the window with a sway to his steps, and braced his body against the windowsill, with the soft pads of his fingers lighting pressed to the wood. A draught blew out from behind the wood tacked to the broken glass. Shiro breathed deep and said:

“I knew then – emotionally – what I did to you was wrong.”

He turned around and pressed a hand to his stomach. The nauseous guilt burned and bubbled inside him, as he strove to control every breath, but the sight of the table – laden with foods – brought bile to the back of his throat, until all he could taste was acid. Keith stared at him with dry eyes, but a furrowed brow. He cocked his head to the side, while leaning slightly away from Lotor, and gestured wildly with his fingers splayed, as he pursed his lips and let loose a low hiss of breath. Shiro averted his gaze, as Keith choked out:

“What did you do it then?”

“I stayed in solitary for a long time, which is when I studied psychology, so maybe I confused a few things in the timeline, but . . . I started to donate what little money I got to charity, while I studied hard and worked with Kolivan to do what I could, and I even got into the habit of donating blood, too. I wrote a book and the proceeds went to charity, too.”

“And that’s enough?” Keith shook his head. “That’s all you did?”

“I don’t know what else I can do,” said Shiro. “I left prison and crashed with Kuro for a while, but he doesn’t make much money and was working as a security guard at the time, so it wasn’t enough money to support me, too. Kolivan helped get me back on track. I work now as a psychologist for people struggling with attraction to minors, as well as reformed criminals, and I have a private practise that specialises in post-traumatic stress.”

“The private practise allows for _pro bono_ work,” said Kolivan.

“Our combined income allows for a nice life. I – I know I don’t deserve that after what I did to you, but I have to remember that I’m no different to any other human alive . . . I always tell my clients that life is a series of choices, and – even if we can’t control who we _were_ – we can control who we _are_ , and who I am is just a man that is trying his best.”

Shiro smiled and strode back to the sofa. Kolivan waited with an outstretched hand, which he took with a low sigh, and – easing next to his husband – their legs pressed against one another, providing a sense of warmth and pressure. It was a small comfort in a cold room, while Lotor politely toyed with his snacks and Keith could only clasp at the mug until his knuckles turned starkly white. The hardest question was yet to come, so Shiro braced himself for the worst and held firm to Kolivan. The food was surely cold by now.

“But then why do it in the _first_ place?” Keith asked.

“Because . . . Because I acted on emotion, not on reason,” said Shiro. “I was having a pretty bad time, with all this _rage_ battling around in my head, and I tried everything from martial arts classes to extra drills at the Garrison to even just hot baths. I think I was dealing with too much stress; Adam and I couldn’t get along, while Iverson kept pushing me to take on more work, and I was also dealing with this . . . this . . . this attraction . . .

“I tried to talk to people online, but – well – I kept getting blocked or banned. If I could even find a site that would let me talk about how I felt, other people would chime in with how I was a paedophile and how I needed to die, and I started to get really depressed . . . like life was pointless, like I was just a threat . . . one threatened to track me down, too.

“I was scared and had nowhere to turn. It was this huge well of emotion inside, barely contained and unable to break out, and then I saw you that night . . . you were beautiful. I was just overwhelmed with so much that it was hard to filter; I was _furious_ someone could let you go, put you in danger like that, when people called _me_ the threat, and I was also turned on and thought that I was doomed to offend anyway, so what harm would there be.”

A low grunt escaped Lotor. The silence from the others spoke of a more damning judgement, as tears fell freely from his eyes and he buried his head into his hands, and – unable to look at any of them – Shiro strove to count the seconds as the clock ticked, while focusing on the time and place . . . _he was in the moment_. . . every breath and every blink was a part of the now, while the past was beyond his reach and control. The tremble to his hands was visible to everyone within the room, as he hunched over and took in gulping breaths with wracked sobs.

“I started and I couldn’t stop. It was like all this emotion spilled out, so that I saw red, and the world just blurred and faded and disappeared . . . _bam, bam, bam_. . . I was finally the one in control! I was the one making others hurt and not _being_ hurt. I got this rush. It was like I was just finally got to let loose and be myself, because myself was this monster, and I truly believed that . . . it was all anyone thought I was, when I showed my true self . . .

“It was like if they thought I was a monster, I’d _show_ them I was a monster. It was like this weird satisfaction in being right, but also . . . I don’t know . . . a way to hurt myself? I didn’t want to be this evil thing, but that it hurt me only made me feel – I guess – better . . . like it was what I deserved, like I was putting things right, like I need to be hurt? I don’t know.”

“So you hurt me to punish yourself?”

“I think I’m trying to rationalise something irrational, to be honest.”

Shiro threw himself back against the sofa. The blanket behind him was pulled back, until it was draped around his shoulders and pulled close in front of him, and – as the sudden warmth and weight pulled him a little to reality – he saw the distorted image of Keith through tears. It was difficult to endure the sight of his pale skin and trembling lips, as if he fought desperately with something inside himself, and his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, while Lotor whispered to him words of encouragement. Kolivan asked:

“Can I get you anything?”

A low scoff was the only response. Keith tossed his plate onto the table, while his mug sloshes its contents over the sides, and everything remained completely untouched, as he pushed his fingers to his temples and massaged with rough movements. He flinched when Lotor touched his shoulder, before he jumped to his feet with a stifled groan. It was difficult to watch. The way he paced was panicked and frantic, so that he only stopped when Lotor stood and grabbed at his shoulders, and – forced still – he took great gulps of air.

“We can leave, if you wish,” said Lotor.

“Yeah,” mumbled Keith. “Yeah, I think that’s best. It – It’s a lot to digest, but I have to be honest . . . I don’t think I can forgive you, Shiro. It’s like everyone keeps telling me to forgive and move forward, so I’ve tried to just put it behind me, but it’s _my_ pain and _my_ trauma and I can’t just let it go because you had a bad time, too. I – I hate you.”

“No, that’s . . . that’s fine,” whispered Shiro. “I can’t forgive myself, so how can I expect you to forgive me? I wouldn’t ask that of you. I just need you to know that it _wasn’t_ your fault, and I take full responsibility, so if you need to hate me then I accept that.”

“Gee, thanks for your permission. I’m glad that’s sorted.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Keith.”

Keith shook his head. He buried his hands into his hair and yanked; a low cry echoed forth from his lips, while he stamped his feet and swayed where he stood, and Lotor nodded curtly to both men and gently guided Keith towards the door, where Shiro could only watch with watery eyes and a low gaze. The door clicked open and slammed shut. He winced and ran his hands over his face, while Kolivan guided him into a reclining position. The blankets were tucked in around him, as a kiss was placed to his forehead, and Shiro said nothing in response.

A cold numbness spread through his limbs, while Kolivan crossed the lounge to the window, and watched with narrow eyes until finally returning to Shiro, whereby he sat at the end of the sofa and lifted Shiro’s feet onto his lap. It was good to share in brief intimacy, as the pads of gentle fingers worked on the soles of his feet. Shiro let his eyes fall closed, while he tried to block out the world around him, and focussed only on the immediate sensations.

“I am proud of you,” said Kolivan.

Shiro laughed and focussed on his breathing exercises. He lolled his head to the side, while he smiled at Kolivan and reached towards him with a limp hand, and – as Kolivan took the hand with a smile in turn – he squeezed and remembered all the good times. A door slammed somewhere outside, while a van pulled up and an alarm sounded from the clock, and soon a day of chores would commence . . . alarms installed, windows fixed, cameras added . . . the world would continue for him, but for Keith it came to an end so many years ago.

“I just wish I could do something more,” confessed Shiro.


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Minor-on-Adult Rape

_Kuro sat outside._

_The pizza in the bag was still warm, enough that it burned at his hands. He propped his bike up into position, while still straddling the leather seat, and cast his eyes over the expensive suburban home, complete with a white-picket fence and customised mail-box. A man with brown skin and burning blue eyes waved from the porch, where a small boy jumped on the balls of his feet and clapped his hands with pure excitement. They didn’t recognise him._

_It was rude to keep his visor down. Sal often docked ten dollars off pay for anyone caught with a helmet on when knocking on a door, always stressing the sheer importance of clients to be able to differentiate staff from intruders and safety from risk, and yet there was a greater risk to his job that came from being recognised. Kuro double-checked the address. A quick shuffle of the box allowed him to send a quick text to Sal: ‘next time, someone else does this place – I know the guy’. He shoved his phone back into his pocket._

_He saw through the lounge windows, as it was yet another home that seemingly was indifferent to drawing their blinds at night, and – inside – he saw a beautiful woman beside an older redheaded man, as they gossiped and laughed and embraced. Keith was nowhere in sight. He drew a deep breath, kept his head and visor low, and headed towards the house with a forced smile that no one would notice, while his heart raced in his chest._

_‘Sorry for the delay,’ chirped Kuro._

_Lance talked with fluent ease, not noticing the familiar timbre to his voice. The boy continued to jump up and down, as he lifted his hands high and shouted “please, please, please” over and over, until Lance took the boxes and told him to be_ very _careful due to the heat. Kuro tried not to watch as the boy ran away; he knew the accusations all too well once they recognised his face, enough that he kept his head low and breathed deep._

_A few more seconds passed of uneasy small-talk. Kuro only responded in grunts and hums, until the money was handed over and he shoved it into his pocket without counting the contents, and – muttering a ‘thank you’ – Kuro darted back to his bike at full speed. He finally exhaled. A glance back to the house revealed Lance being jumped on by the small child, who he carried in his arms with a laugh and kicked the door closed with a foot, and thankfully no one seemed any more aware of who served them. Kuro sped away._

_At least, this night couldn’t get any worse . . ._

* * *

Shiro juggled the paper bags.

It took a few seconds to open the boot, before sliding them inside. A couple fell onto their sides, sending a fall loose oranges and apples scattering around the interior of the car, before – with a long sigh – they were carefully placed back inside their paper prisons. There was one bag in particular that caught his eye. It hid inside a rectangular box, nestled between some fruit-flavoured sweets . . . healthy enough to repulse Kuro, unhealthy enough to disgust Kolivan . . . Shiro tucked the box further between them with flushed cheeks.

A quick glance about the parking lot brought disappointment.

He winced to see there was no public bathroom in sight, and – while the lot was pretty deserted – a charge of public urination was something better avoided. Shiro pressed his hands to the metal of the boot-door. A low hiss of breath escaped his lips, as he slammed the door closed and walked around to the back doors. He tossed inside his jacket onto the backseat, along with his wallet and the last paper bag onto the floor, and paused for breath.

The lights from the shops slowly extinguished. A few loud giggles could be heard from behind the old buildings, where the assistants would return to their vehicles, and the sound of revving bikes and trucks echoed out even from the distance. The trees behind him rustled in the wind, while they blocked sight of the main road beyond.  Shiro smiled. The late-night grocery runs prevented him from running into people, but also enabled him to catch the scents and sounds of nature all around, and already the leaves were turning colour.

He watched as one leaf darted and danced across the tarmac, until it struck at the wooden fence that separated the green perimeter, and his eyes instinctively moved beyond the trees . . . beyond the busy freeway . . . towards the forest far on the other side. Shiro ran a hand through his black locks of hair, brushing the white streak to one side, while he closed his eyes and basked in the peaceful silence. He never saw the open palm.

_A burst of pain followed._

It all happened so quickly . . . the sensation of fingers on his neck was overridden with agony, as the bridge of his nose collided with the edge of the car . . . a sickening crack echoed about the empty lot, as white-hot pain seared every nerve, and something warm and wet flowed down his face and over his mouth. He tasted iron. It flooded the back of his throat. He choked and spluttered and sank down to his knees, tears brimming already at his eyes.

Shiro slid down to his knees. He tentatively touched his nose, only to recoil with a cry and pull back his bloodied fingers, and – heart racing and mouth dry – he strove to crawl into the car and lock the door closed, but something grabbed him . . . a clawed hand at his belt . . . yanked back onto the tarmac, where he lay prone and saw only a pair of thin legs through hazed vision. The boots were expensive and high, while the jeans were designer in nature, and no gangs or opportunists would wear such attire. It was a targeted attack.

“I – I have money,” choked Shiro.

He slowly reached for the wallet in his pocket. A foot slammed onto his hand. Shiro cried out as another loud crunch echoed out and knuckles grinded together, but clarity finally hit as he saw the other boot coming down hard and fast toward his abdomen. He instinctively rolled towards his trapped hand and his attacker. Shiro curled into a foetal position, while his free arm bunched at his hipbone and waist, and he was able to take the brunt of the kick, as the print of the sole made its way through his thin shirt and onto his forearm. Shiro begged:

“Please, not my stomach. _Please_!”

The man made a disgusted scoff. A few seconds passed until the foot on his hand relaxed, allowing Shiro to pull it back and cradle it against his stomach, and – as his mind ran through all escape possibilities – he pulled himself into a sitting position. The phone in his pocket dug painfully into his outer leg, where it was likely smashed and the glass screen in pieces, and he threw black his head and panted for breath with tears leaving stains through the blood.

“T-Thank you,” whispered Shiro.

He slowly lifted his head, as his vision regained some focus. The blurred shape of the man grew sharper about the edges, until he saw a half-recognised familiar red jacket and a polo-neck sweater pulled up above the mouth, and those grey-blue eyes . . . narrowed and wet with tears . . . glared at him with no hint of compassion. _It was Keith_. He held his hands high in a fighting stance, with fists hidden beneath those fingerless gloves. Shiro rolled his head. Sparks invaded his vision, and spat at the floor an array of blood and mucus, as he murmured:

“I always wondered when you’d want your revenge.”

“I thought talking to you would help,” said Keith.

“Let me guess. It didn’t?” Shiro shook his head. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through, Keith. I honestly can’t . . . I just know you’re better than _this_. You’re not the sort of man to lurk around parking lots at night. You’re not the sort to pick fights.”

“How do _you_ know what I’m like, Shiro? You spent one _fucking_ night raping me – what – thirteen years ago in some cheaply decorated suburban home. Do – Do you know what it’s done to me? I – I want nothing more than to be with Lotor . . . he’s sweet, he’s patient, he’s loyal . . . he’s never pushed me to do more than I’m able, but always worked on finding compromises and respected my boundaries. I want to be with him, but I –

“Every time he fucking goes near _there_ –? It tenses up. It’s like it closes and goes away, so it’s all painful and dry and nothing _works_. . . he – he says he’s okay being the one to do that stuff instead, but I _want_ to and I _want_ to know what it’s like, and it’s just this huge mental block and like this wall comes crashing down and it won’t _work_! You did that. _You_!”

“Keith, I can’t do anything other than apologise! I can’t undo what I did.”

“No. No, you _can’t_ undo what you did, so . . . so . . .”

Two hands snatched at his collar. Shiro was forced to his feet, as he clawed and scratched at the fingers so close to his throat, and – as vague memories sprung forth of his trial and forensic evidence – he raked long and parallel cuts along the wrists. He clawed until he felt blood. He scratched until Keith cried out. A hand struck at his cheek, sending his head snapping to the side and his vision distorting once again. Keith spat at him.

He still swayed when he was shoved into the backseat. The back of his head collided with the metal rim of the car, sending a trickle of blood down his neck and causing a lump to form at the base of his skull, and a burst of nausea shot through him. It reached the back of his mouth, as bile burned against his tongue and threatened to spill forth from his lips. The cushions of the backseat cushioned his fall. He rolled onto his side and opened his mouth, as a spray of vomit fell behind the driver’s seat and soaked into the carpet, while he panted for breath.

There was no way to call for help. There was no way to drive with a potential concussion. A dark part of him laughed through tears, as he envisioned walking along the busy freeway in search of a public phone or someone that might stop, much like Keith was forced in all those years previous . . . alone, confused, afraid . . . it was too dark to see, but Keith knelt and crawled into the car after him. He perched above him on all fours.

“I want a redo, Shiro,” whispered Keith.

A rough pair of hands went for his belt, tugging with a strange expertise. A cold dread rushed through his veins. He instinctively ran through past encounters . . . _his first time with Adam, a forced embrace with Keith, nights of love-making with Kolivan . . ._ tears broke at the corners of his eyes, as his heart raced and sounded loud against his senses. There was no control here. There was no trust. If he allowed it to happen, there would even be a betrayal . . .

Shiro clenched his fist, as the belt was yanked through the hoops, and – as a loud snap echoed about the car as it struck the roof – Shiro through his first punch. It missed Keith by an inch. A second one missed entirely, as Keith exhibited fast instincts and faster reflexes, and it was clear he was no longer the small and vulnerable boy that could not fight back, but instead he was nearly a grown man with clear self-defence and martial arts lessons at his back. A flurry of punches and kicks followed, as Shiro sobbed and struck and screamed.

“I’d stop if I were you,” threatened Keith.

 _A sound of metal on metal_. A flick-knife appeared an inch before his nose, as Shiro focused with wide-eyes on that shining blade, as it slid down his chest with the point creasing his shirt, before it stopped dead over his abdomen and pressed until a small bead of blood stained the fabric and cleaved skin to shirt. Every breath brought the knifepoint a little further to his stomach, enough that he soon held his breath until Keith pulled it back just enough to release pressure . . . close to enough to stab, far enough that it would need to be intentional . . .

It was enough for Shiro to obey, as the belt wrapped around his wrists. The leather was tightened until his fingers grew numb and hands turned red, and the sensation of his pulses pounding against each other – as wrist touched wrist – was unbearable. He saw Keith before he was flipped onto his front . . . tears stained his cheeks, while his lips trembled . . . it was like looking into the face of a victim and not a perpetrator. Shiro shivered.

“I _deserve_ a redo of events.” Keith flicked on the car light. “O-Okay, so – so I can’t go back in time and undo things, but I can own what happened and redo events. I – I can fight now . . . I don’t have to be the victim, I don’t have to be hurt by you . . . I – I can – I can just –”

“T-This isn’t a healthy coping mechanism, Keith.”

“You _raped_ me and you get to live a fucking perfect life! Isn’t this karma? Isn’t this what you deserve? I want for Lotor to touch and me _not_ to recoil and tense, but . . . but the memories . . . if instead it feels good and I’m in control and I’m not the victim, that would eliminate the fear, right? I don’t want to be afraid. I don’t want this in my head!”

Realisation dawned. Shiro threw out his bound hands to the door handle before him. He locked his fingers around the plastic, as he pulled hard, but – as the door popped open a few inches – the buckle of a second belt collided with his back. Shiro screamed out in pain, while Keith spat at him again and attacked his back with the belt. It struck over and over and over, until his voice ran hoarse and he tasted blood afresh. Each wound stung. The entire back was aflame, while the wounds throbbed in time with his heart, and he could only weep.

He could not count the wounds. He only knew pain and fear, while the second belt was tossed to the ground . . . it was shiny and more of a fashion statement . . . it would easily retain fingerprints if Shiro needed to press charges. Shiro fidgeted and struggled, as he maintained a guise of trying to crawl away or find some relief for his wounds. He managed to toss his jacket beneath him onto the floor, covering the belt . . . Shiro prayed Keith would forget.

A zip was lowered with a familiar metallic sound. Shiro swallowed back his vomit, as an erection was pressed against his leg and rubbed up and down, before he fought to crawl back out of the door once again, but he was stopped by hands . . . hands on his trousers . . . they were yanked down to his knees, as they exposed his buttocks. A hand slapped at one. He cried out in surprise and horror, as mortification brought a blush to his cheeks, and Keith laughed as he leaned down to bite on one until blood was drawn. Shiro cried out:

“I don’t consent to this, Keith!”

The broken laugh sent a chill down his spine. Keith sniffed and drew in a shuddered breath, almost like he struggled for oxygen between his cries, and a shuffle behind him sent a dark shadow over his vision, as knees pressed into either side of his hips and the pressure lowered the seat by an inch. The back of his head blocked out the light, which left Shiro staring at the tarmac below . . . he clung to the edge of the seat with trembling and numb fingers.

“That’s funny,” said Keith. “I didn’t consent, either.”

 _A searing pain ripped through him._ Shiro screamed, as Keith pushed inside without preparation or waiting for any hint of arousal, and no attempt was made to wait, as Keith thrust in and out without mercy . . . _in and out, in and out_. . . Shiro bit at the edge of the seat, as he stared out among the trees with blurred vision and choked sobs. The lights of the cars flashed before his vision, as they caught between the trees on each passing drive.

He choked on stomach acid, as he tried to call out again . . . _‘h-help, so-someone!’_. . . Keith pounded into him until the only sound was balls on buttocks, while blood provided the only lubrication in the unnatural act, as Shiro closed his eyes and thought to Kolivan. It was impossible to pretend it was consensual . . . _an hour of foreplay and stretching, natural lubrication soaking into the sheets from distant Galra blood, the slow extension of his knot as they lay locked together . . ._ sweat and tears merged in his eyes and stung with pain.

Keith changed the angle of his thrust. The head of his erection pushed against something inside Shiro, which sent a wave of pleasure coursing through his veins, and – as the stinging pain merged with the sparks of ecstasy – Shiro felt nothing but disgust . . . self-revulsion . . . he didn’t want this, but his member twitched and hardened. Every pound of his prostate brought him closer to arousal. Shiro screamed as much as his throat would allow, as he clawed at the seat and desperately strove to crawl away . . . _‘no, no, no’_. . .

A burning despair welled up in his stomach, as his member started to drip with pre-come and leaked onto the seat of the car, and he was unable to hold back the overwhelming emotion, as his stomach rolled and his oesophagus contracted and vomit poured forth over his lips, as it spilled onto the tarmac with a loud splash. Keith grunted and hissed behind him, with his hand occasionally slapping at his buttocks with violent strikes.

“S-Stop,” begged Shiro. “Stop . . . p-please, stop . . .”

He glanced to the dash-camera. A small light flashed at the side, as the camera turned on automatically whenever the car was unlocked, and he hoped – _he prayed_ – it would pick up the sounds of his protests and refusals, as he waited for Keith to finally finish. He fought back memories of his time with Keith . . . _this must have been how he felt . . . agonising pain, the humiliation of being used_. . . Shiro lay limp and motionless against the seats.

It took a few more minutes before Keith came. The burst of come flooded his insides, with the salty fluids stinging and burning against the cuts on his inner walls, and he sobbed silently as Keith shoved himself balls deep inside him, as he growled out his pleasure. The sound was primal and aggression, like the grunt of an animal rather than the sounds of a human, and – as Keith pulled out with little consideration – come leaked from Shiro’s gaping and winking hole, merging with the blood and sweat into a crude pool on recently refurbished seats.

Shiro lay lifeless. He waited without word as Keith panted for breath. It would be better to let him dress and leave, waiting to hear his footsteps grow faint or his vehicle leave, and then he could walk along the freeway or bang on the shop windows for help. The ache in his behind spread to his lower back and upper legs, while he closed his eyes briefly and focussed on his stomach, where a few deep breaths brought reassurance that no injuries were sustained.

“I – I still feel the same,” muttered Keith.

Shiro was rolled over onto his back. The edge of the seat struck at his neck, leaving his head bent backwards at a painful angle, and he could only listen to the choked sobs, as he rolled his head to the side in hopes of not being seen by Keith. Shiro brought his bound hands down to his stomach, where he rubbed lightly at the skin to check for wounds, while his still erect cock spread pre-come over his abdominal muscles. Keith muttered:

“I thought the pain would go away after I hurt you.”

“In-Instead you o-only spread the pain.”

“I – I just wanted to reclaim what happened!” Tears spilled down pale cheeks. “I thought that if _you_ were the victim then I wouldn’t have to be . . . it’s no more than you deserve, because it’s not as though you could ever repay what you did to me! I just want for it to stop. I – I –”

Keith lowered his gaze. He narrowed his eyes on the burgeoning erection. Shiro tried to cover his member with his hands, only to have them yanked away with a snarl from curled lips, and – as he squeezed shut his eyes to force back the tears – Keith sat astride him with broken laughter and bloodshot eyes. A hand touched on Shiro’s cock. He jumped upright, only for the agonising pain in his behind to bring him to the point of collapse, and instead he arched his back and kicked wildly even with his trousers tangled about his ankles. Keith spat:

“Why are you even hard? Do you get off on this? Do you _want_ this?”

The fingers moved slowly and separately, like keys being played on a scale, and his pre-come increased in rate until it spurted from the slit in a clear stream. A strong pleasure ripped through every vein and every nerve, even as Shiro began his chant afresh . . . _‘no, no, no, please stop, no’_. . . Keith crawled a little further towards Shiro’s head, with his hand still on his cock, but this time he slid his jeans down until they sat bunched underneath his buttocks, before he positioned the head of the cock between his cheeks. Shiro froze.

There was a natural lubrication that mixed with his pre-come . . . half-Galra blood, just as Shiro learned during the trials . . . Keith was slowly adding pressure, so that the hole would soon give way and envelop the head of his cock, and it would be too late. It was bad enough to have been anally taken; no one had taken him that way before, except Kolivan. He could not stand the loss of anything else. Shiro screamed and struggled, but the knife reappeared.

“I’ll aim right for the belly-button,” threatened Keith.

Shiro fell back once more. He lay still while Keith pressed down, until his member was swallowed to the root by the tight inner walls that provided a horrific heat, and his throat was too raw and broken to provide any more screams. Shiro screwed shut his eyes and clenched his fists, until nails broke into his palms and left crescent-shaped cuts into flesh. He panted for breath, as he fought back arousal, and swore not to find a release.

Every downward thrust would bring instinctive clenches from Keith, as well as low moans and mewls of pleasure, and he rested his hands on Shiro’s shoulders and leaned impossibly close, until their lips practically touched and they shared breath. Shiro knew. He knew that Keith would not stop until a completion was reached, because this was about punishment and revenge . . . it was about humiliation and defeat . . . to allow it to be prolonged would be to betray Kolivan, but to give into the act would be a worse betrayal. Shiro wept.

He lost track of the minutes as they drifted by in a haze. Keith alternated between arousal and disgust, as his erection would appear and disappear almost within a blink, and soon – with a grunt – frustration was apparent. Keith pounded up and down, over and over, with such speed and clenches that Shiro felt it building . . . growing . . . the pleasure danced over his skin, tingling every nerve, while bright sparks danced over his vision.

“Come for me, you rapist,” spat Keith.

Shiro choked on saliva and bile, as his forced orgasm ripped through him. A full body-shudder ripped through him, as his toes curled and his eyes rolled back, and the absolute bliss crashed into shame and denial and horror . . . _pleasure from his rape_. . . something inside him broke, as he wanted nothing more than to hide and sleep and run. He wanted what was inside him to die, but instead it shot from him in bursts of come inside his previous victim, and he sobbed uncontrollably as Keith laughed at him and slapped his face.

Keith slid from his rapidly deflating cock. There was a slurping sound, as his now flaccid penis fell against his stomach, and Shiro continued to mumble incoherent apologies and pleas for mercy, until he Keith finally climbed out of the car and stood on the tarmac. A few sounds followed . . . clothes rustled, a zipper done up, a snatch of a song . . . Shiro remained lifeless on the backseat, as Keith laughed and slapped the roof of the car with a violent slam.

Shiro flinched.

He continued to lie half-naked and bloodied and broken, until Keith let loose a low breath and whispered a ‘sorry’, before heavy footsteps walked away from the car and echoed into the distance, and then the footsteps stopped . . . Shiro waited . . . bushes rustled and shook, as something scraped against the tarmac. A rev of an engine. It must have been a motorbike, as Keith drove out of the parking lot and somewhere into the distance. Shiro waited.

He waited until the moon passed a good portion of the sky. He waited until the sound of traffic died down. It was only when he was absolutely certain . . . _no one was coming back, no one was watching_. . . Shiro struggled to reach down into his trouser pocket. Every movement was filled with agonising pain. It took ten minutes just to grasp the phone and pull it out with trembling fingers, and – with a sigh of relief – he realised that it still worked even with a cracked screen and a couple of missing pieces at the far corner.

It was difficult to unlock with his hands still bound, but soon a familiar photograph flashed into his vision . . . Kolivan naked beneath a sheet that kept his modesty, while still half-asleep as he laughed with the sunlight brightening his face, and he truly looked like a figure of beauty from their honeymoon bed. Shiro ignored the notifications. There were too many missed calls and texts to process, and too many to even count in his panic . . .

_‘Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?’_

He could not remember dialling.

“H-Hello?” Shiro choked. “I – I need an ambulance . . . police . . . I – I’m t-tied up in my car, need . . . need help . . . I – I was – I was raped . . . beaten . . . please . . . please, send someone . . . I – I’m in the parking lot . . . I –I – I need . . . I need . . .”

The conversation passed by in a blur of half-remembered words . . . an address, an estimated time, words of comfort . . . someone must have mentioned Kolivan, as the dispatcher promised he would be waiting in the hospital . . . promised he would be there. Shiro cried until there were no tears left to shed, while clutching the phone in both bound hands close to his ear, as he occasionally stole glances to the background image. He was alone.

He was alone, but it was all he deserved . . .


	6. Chapter Five

_‘Calm down, Kuro!’_

_Kuro paced outside the hospital room. The blinds were opened at the glass window, so that the wires caught the artificial light and reflected back sharp sparks on his retinas, and on that bed – covered with tubes and bandages – lay a broken figure of a man . . . Shiro. The bruising about his face was the worst. They no longer looked identical; even the scar across his nose was blue and black and brown, barely visible among other features._

_A nurse tended to the fluids at his side, while a police officer stood opposite. Kuro pressed his hand to the glass, with the cold grounding him briefly in the moment, and he screwed shut his eyes to force back tears that threatened to spill. He struggled to slow his racing heart, as it pounded hard against his chest. He struggled to stop the adrenaline rush. Every breath was fast and heavy, while his body shook with the need to break something . . . someone . . . Kuro curled his hand into a fist. He slammed hard against the glass._

_The nurse jumped. The officer spun around._

_Kolivan raised a hand beside him, as he signalled that all was fine. The officer nodded, although she glared towards Kuro and glanced him over, and – as he curled his lip and made to yell at her – Kolivan grabbed at his upper arms and gripped hard. It was a firm hold. There would be bruises from his clawed fingers, as he shoved Kuro hard against the wall between door and window. Kuro took in a deep breath. This was his brother-in-law. . . Kolivan meant well . . . Kolivan was just as worried. Kuro pointed to the window and spat:_

_‘Why aren’t they out there looking for Keith?’_

_‘They have him in for questioning,’ confessed Kolivan. ‘It will take some time for the forensic evidence to be collected, but they have examined the dash-cam footage. We will need to wait for Shiro to awaken to determine how the investigation will continue. It is possible he will not wish to press charges, but with the concussion so severe and the damage done –’_

_‘This – This is fucking attempted murder, Kolivan. I don’t know the ins and outs of the law, but I’m_ pretty _sure that they can stuff whatever Shiro says and go after that blood-belching tumorous shit-stain before he goes and hurts someone else! That fucking piece of –’_

_‘That can wait, Kuro. What Shiro needs now is our support.’_

_‘Yes, but I – I need – I need to – I just –’_

_The tears finally ran over his cheeks. Kuro fought them back, choking on them as he scrunched his eyes yet again, but he was forced to admit defeat. Kolivan held him. He clung to his Galra attire with fists so tight that knuckles grew white, while he pressed his face against his shoulder and wept without shame. A stain of saliva appeared on his shirt. Kolivan stroked at his black hair, while shushing him with warm breaths, until Kuro whispered:_

_‘I just want to make it better . . .’_

* * *

Shiro sat upright.

The blankets over his legs were heavy and warm, unlike the thin sheets at the hospital. He ran callused fingers over the intricate patterns sewn onto the fabric, along a familiar coffee stain from where Kuro borrowed it one night last winter, and there was even the familiar tear in the bottom corner from a wild night with Kolivan some months previous. It still gave off a fresh aroma from the tumble-drier, while the room itself was scented with fresh flowers.

He rolled his head on the plump pillows. The curtains were drawn, which blocked off sight of the gardens beyond, but the long chest-of-drawers was filled with various ‘get well’ cards and boxes of chocolates and various gifts still unopened from friends and patients. Shiro wondered what they were told. No one would have revealed something so private and personal as a sexual assault, but there would be little to excuse the past week spent in a solitary hospital room with a nurse and officer always at his bedside . . .

Shiro turned to his other side.

Kolivan sat propped in an old chair, still dressed in his day attire sans shirt. A selection of pamphlets lay on the beside-table beside him . . . _emergency contraception, cognitive therapies, managing medications_. . . it made a change from the previous literature of home safety and security firms. The pill boxes were lined up beside a glass of water, where a clock sat on top of the schedule that marked what pain medication was taken. Shiro rested a hand over his stomach, as he ran it over in small circles, before he stared at the ceiling with a sigh.

There were noises further down the corridor. It was a familiar and rhythmic sound . . . _thud, thud, thud_. . . Shiro remembered waking on his third night in hospital, where Kuro loomed over him and alternated between frowns and smiles . . . _thud, thud_. . . Kuro was either boxing or fucking, but either way Shiro would not begrudge him a stress relief . . . _thud_. A small murmur echoed from beside him. He turned to see Kolivan awakening from a deep slumber.

“You are awake,” observed Kolivan.

Kolivan rubbed the sleep from his eyes, as he pulled himself upright. The clothes he wore were a little looser on his frame, while his eyes were bloodshot and unfocussed, and he stumbled towards the bed like a man wading through thick waters, as he came to sit beside Shiro on the edge of the mattress with some great distance. Shiro winced and patted the sheets beside him, as he forced a trembling smile and nodded.

It took a few seconds for Kolivan to relent. He ran his eyes over Shiro before he even considered coming closer, although he kept them wide and his lips parted, and then followed his hands that slowly – with great hesitation – felt at his forehead and neck, as if checking for a temperature or infection. Shiro nuzzled into the touch. The warm pads of soft fingers brought a small comfort, as Shiro coaxed him to crawling onto the bed beside him. He leaned against Kolivan and rested his head on his chest. He listened to his heartbeat.

“I won’t break,” said Shiro. “I trust you.”

Kolivan let out a choked breath, as he held Shiro impossibly close. A hand came up to clasp his cheek, while another ran over every inch of skin, and Kolivan breathed deep the scent of hospital soaps and shampoos, while tears ran over his cheeks. Shiro waited. The minutes passed until both found a comfortable balance, as they simply sat beside one another and pulled the blankets around their waists, and soon the noises down the corridor stopped. It was hard to forget the trauma, but easy to remember that he was safe in these rooms.

“I couldn’t sleep,” said Shiro.

“It is your first night home.” Kolivan kissed at his head. “It is only natural that you will experience some anxiety. I still fear every time I close my eyes . . . you spent five nights in hospital, but three of those were unconscious, and I had to be strong for Kuro, who was so close to breaking point. I thought I was going to _lose_ you! I cannot lose you, Shiro.”

“I’m here. I’m alive.” Shiro blinked back tears. “ _I’m alive_.”

“Do you realise what damage was done? You received several head-wounds, a broken nose, several broken ribs, internal bleeding, stitches along the rectum, welts and bruises across your back and buttocks, a lost tooth . . . I spent every second between your bedside and preventing Kuro from doing something that would only cause more drama. I was so afraid.

“If you were able to speak, you would have held me. You always were the sort to put others first, no matter the pain you endured or sorrows you experienced, and you would have laughed and told me you were fine, while letting me cry out my fears. I tried to remember that you would not expect me to be strong for everyone, but it distracted me and gave me a purpose and yet now everything is fine . . . the dam feels broken . . . I was so scared, Shiro.”

Shiro let loose a shuddered breath. He listened to the heart beneath his ear, which pounded with great speed and strength, and every beat reminded him of the depths of love endured, which only brought pain and panic for those who so loved him. Shiro slowly sat upright with a forced smile, as he brushed away the tearstains from Kolivan’s cheeks. He held his breath, while forcing back so much emotion to be strong for his husband, and gently pressed chaste kisses to ever tear that formed and fell from those wide eyes. Shiro asked in a low voice:

“How long am I expected to be on bed-rest?”

Kolivan laughed, as he held Shiro’s hands warmly before his lips. He pressed kisses along palms and fingers, and nuzzled them with a low purr, before he pulled away and slid into the bed. Shiro followed his movements. They lay together and basked in the peaceful silence. A low patter of raindrops echoed about from the windowpanes, enough to remind Shiro of nights spent with giggles and moans as the rain provided the perfect backdrop to their activities, but instead he tensed. He clenched his hands and shut his eyes, as Kolivan asked:

“Why do you ask, Husband?”

“I – I’m sorry I put you through all this,” whispered Shiro. “We could take a break? I thought a vacation somewhere warm, where we can just forget all this happened. I – I want . . . I want to just focus on all the good, put this behind me forever, and you deserve to just relax and rest after all of this . . . this . . . _stuff_. If I could go back in time and undo what I did -! I broke Keith, but because of that I lost my arm and my career and now –”

“If you had not broken Keith, you would also have remained engaged to Adam,” said Kolivan. “You would have continued to fight over misplaced priorities, while working a career that demanded too much, and we would never have met. I do not mean to say that what you did was at all ‘good’, but that even the worst deeds often have a purpose in our lives.”

“Yeah, but is Keith right that I didn’t suffer enough? It feels like I’ve taken his pain and used it to my advantage . . . I have a new career, a husband I adore . . . I – I didn’t want what he did, but equally a part of me was thinking: ‘finally, I got what I deserved’. I felt like I’d paid my dues, but then I hated myself . . . I hated myself for betraying you, for giving up . . .

“That was the worst part! He – I – I didn’t tell the police this bit . . . it was easier to let them think he penetrated me twice, but he – he – he mounted me and I just –!” Shiro swallowed back his tears. “I tried to hold back the orgasm for a while, but then it was like I was an active participant and cheating on you, but to just go with it – to get it over with – I really _was_ cheating on you. I felt dirty and used and _disgusting_. Who the fuck gets off on their rape?”

Shiro rolled over onto his back, as his clenched fists pulled away from Kolivan. The warmth of those hands could still be felt on his skin, like a lingering touch that would forever remain, and just the memory of that brief intimacy was enough to break Shiro. He threw one arm over his eyes, while the other covered his now mouth wide open with broken cries, and he sobbed like a child . . . a few inches from his husband in their marital bed . . . tears merging with sweat and saliva, as he knew every touch from Kolivan was wrong . . . undeserved . . .

He let Keith touch him, hold him, bite him . . . there were still teeth-marks on his buttocks, with a mould taken for forensic evidence, and no amount of showers cleansed him of those marks and scars and wounds. Kolivan touched what Keith touched. He would become dirty by association, picking at the seconds left by one who discarded him, and Shiro was scared . . . scared he was no longer worthy of Kolivan, even as Kolivan slid closer to him.

“You know it was an involuntary reflex,” said Kolivan.

“I now that’s what I’d tell my patients, but I still feel _dirty_ ,” mumbled Shiro. “You know you’re the only person that’s ever penetrated me, but – weirdly – that’s not what felt like the violation . . . the violation was being made to take _pleasure_ from what he did! I know there were Adam and Keith in the past, but somehow . . . I don’t know . . . that was _my_ pleasure.”

“Your moments of pleasure in the past were consensual on your part, something you were in full control over and explicitly instigated or willingly participated, and so this was wrenched from you . . . a private moment and private reaction alongside the physical act.”

“I – I never wanted to _share_ that with him. That was _mine_.”

“And that is why I think you must talk to someone.”

Kolivan gently rolled Shiro onto his side, while he wrapped muscular arms around his waist, and Shiro – still crying and taking in gasped breaths – calmed a little to feel his back pressed to that firm stomach and chest, while fingers stroked incoherent patterns on his hips. A few kisses were pressed to his temple, while Shiro forced down slow and steady breaths. It took a few minutes to calm . . . _five, seven . . . eighteen . . ._ Kolivan remained silent.

Shiro noticed that the chest behind him moved with a great deal of size, as if taking deeper breaths so that they would be felt with each and every exhale, and Shiro used those movements to time his breathing, while Kolivan pressed his nose against his ear and let the warm air provide another grounding device. He was strong for Shiro. Shiro winced and half-turned his head on the pillow, as he furrowed his brow and reached down to hold onto Kolivan’s hands and clasp them together across his stomach. Shiro found strength to ask:

“A therapist talking to a therapist?”

“You do that anyway,” teased Kolivan. “You know as well as I that it is difficult to endure the traumas of others without empathy allowing for some trauma in turn, so what is the difference here except that it will be your trauma explored? Think about it.”

“I – I just need a few days _not_ to think about.” Shiro shivered. “Let me not be a victim for a week or so, okay? I want to be able to eat breakfast and shower and binge-watch shows with Kuro and fall asleep with you . . . just a normal life . . . I don’t want Keith to have taken that from me, because that would be handing him control. I want to be a survivor.”

“But you will talk to someone after?”

The tears threatened to spill forth. Shiro ran his fingers over the soft fur on the back of Kolivan’s hands, while he gazed at the far wall covered with professionally taken photographs, and each one marked a passing year spent with one another, culminating with his favourite image to date . . . Shiro surprising Kolivan with a kiss in the park. He needed to be strong for Kolivan, but to be strong for another meant being strong himself, and so he rolled over to face Kolivan and cupped his cheeks with trembling hands.

“I swear I will see a therapist,” promised Shiro.

Kolivan smiled and kissed at his forehead, before he reached around Shiro with an awkward positioning of his body against the bed, and – for a brief few seconds – a pure rush of terror and adrenaline coursed through Shiro, as a firm chest pressed against him and pinned him against the mattress. A sound of a sliding drawer revealed the true intent, but Shiro verged on hyperventilation as Kolivan finally returned to his position and said:

“They found this within the grocery bags.”

Only one hand returned to its place over Shiro’s stomach, while the other hung in the air with a familiar box in hand . . . _a pregnancy test_. Kolivan dropped his arm in front of Shiro, where the box rattled a little still captured between his fingers, and Shiro – with a sigh – reached out to run a gentle touch over the image of the newborn baby in a woman’s arms, with the test clearly being marketed at a human audience. A warm breath blew against his neck, as Kolivan nuzzled into him and laid soft kisses to his pale skin. Shiro blinked back tears.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” said Kolivan.

“I was going to tell you once I knew.” Shiro sighed. “I have Galra blood, Kolivan. I was told our mother was a Galra officer stationed here; someone named Krolia, I think? The story goes that she left our father and remarried, before leaving her new family to go back to New Daibazaal. So . . . when the condom broke a week back . . . I worried.”

“I thought nothing of that. I forgot about your heritage . . .”

“I just wanted to be sure, you know? If I wasn’t pregnant, there seemed no point in everyone going into a panic about how to deal with matters . . . it’s not that I was keeping it secret because I wanted an abortion or anything sinister, but just that I didn’t want to get your hopes up when it was just a possibility and not a reality. I needed to know.

“The Galra pregnancy only lasts six months,” continued Shiro. “I asked at the hospital, if they could tell me if I was and how far long, but they said it was still too soon. They recommended me emergency contraception, but I kept thinking . . . what if it’s _not_ borne from the rape, but just a night after wine and flowers with the man I love? I know it’s only a collection of cells, not a baby, but . . . it’s _mine_ , if it’s even there. It’s mine.”

“While I would love a child, in our situation we must –”

“That’s another reason why I wanted to wait.” Shiro shrugged. “I was busy contacting my parole officer and talking to a lawyer, as I wanted to know whether it was possible. I thought – worst case – I could move out and just have supervised visits, but if we’d just be forced into a situation where we couldn’t raise them . . . yeah, it’d be more complicated.”

He harshly shoved at the box. It slid from the blankets and fell with a clatter onto the floor, but where it landed – some feet away – left it in his eyesight and provided a cold reminder of what he might be forced to abandon, even as his heart still swelled with hope. A darker thought filled Shiro’s mind . . . he curled into a foetal position, while he gripped so hard against Kolivan’s hands that his knuckles turned white . . . _Keith came inside him . . ._ nausea hit hard and fast, as he fought back another panic attack. Shiro choked out:

“What if – you know – I _wasn’t_ pregnant, but I am now?”

“I would like to run a paternity test in such a case,” said Kolivan. “ _Only_ because we need to know whether they are primarily Galra or human, as this will alter the discussions that must take place regarding sexual education and sexual development, but otherwise I will claim full responsibility over what is my son or daughter. This is _our_ child, Shiro.”

“I thought the Galra were a one-gender species?”

“Only when they are full-blood. In relationships with other species – at least, those with multiple biological sexes – there is a possibility for the child to be born with a differential biological sex. This is why the female Galra you see will certainly be half-bloods in nature, which would include your mother should what you say be true. If you are only a quarter-blood Galra, it is possible you will not be able to conceive at all, my love.”

“No, I know it’s possible. I had a full physical at the Garrison.”

“Then we must keep a careful eye,” admitted Kolivan.

Kolivan traced his fingers over the stomach. It would be easy to accommodate a child, with the nursery already started from the previous owners and an inability for either to let go of old dreams, and yet neither had found the courage to research matters. Shiro would sometimes return home to find a baby-grow stashed in an old drawer, only to smile and hide his freshly bought stuffed toy beside the beige fabric, and yet neither would ever comment on the growing collection of baby items to one another. Shiro confessed with a tear:

“This isn’t how I wanted to tell you.”

A laugh sounded from the hallway, before someone hushed the other. Shiro chuckled to hear what sounded like Romelle, before clearly bare feet raced downstairs with giggles and moans, and Shiro made a mental note to push Kuro into moving into her apartment. They listened to the pair until they were silent. The small touches upon his stomach brought small smiles, although those smiles would change into frowns at the dark memories, and Shiro stirred and fidgeted as conflicting emotions warred in his chest. He let loose a long breath.

“My only concern is how this will affect you,” confessed Kolivan. “You are only a quarter-Galra and also sustained many injuries; I fear that a miscarriage would break you when you are already so emotionally invested in this child, and that is not even to mention whether it is possible for us to raise a child together. You must speak to a therapist.”

“I honestly think a child might help me.” Shiro closed his eyes. “I want to forget the past and move forward, and I can think of no better distraction than painting a nursery or picking out baby names or convincing Kuro to baby-proof the house. It would – It would be nice.”

“You are in love with the dream and not the reality.”

“You mean the sleepless nights and stinky changes? I know it won’t be all fun and games, but I know I have this infinite amount of love to give and a baby is so full of potential, too, and maybe – finally – I can move forward and stop looking back. I don’t know . . .”

“Let us talk to your therapist.” Kolivan stroked at his hair. “I would like us to find a couple’s counsellor, too. This is a hugely traumatic event for you, while this potential pregnancy will bring a unique set of issues, and I think it is important we are able to discuss all issues with an objective third-person, so that nothing is missed or misunderstood.”

Shiro sighed. He gently pulled away from Kolivan, as he swung his feet onto the floor. The soft carpet felt good between his toes, while a cool draught blew across his ankles, and he reached across for the pregnancy test that rested on the floor. He winced as pain struck him. It was impossible to ignore the welts across his back, as some were still raised and bruised while others only just began to scab, and he stared blankly at the box in his hands.

The words of the nurse drifted into memory . . . _‘if you conceived with your husband on the dates provided, you should be able to find out once you return home’_ . . . Kolivan sat behind him and wrapped his legs on either side, while sliding his arms about Shiro’s waist and pulling him flush backwards. The soft fur did not antagonise his wounds, while the pressure was just right and provided no pain, and the soft lips at his neck acted only as a reassurance of affection, without any expectation of desire. Kolivan spoke in a hushed voice . . .

“I love you, Shiro.”

Shiro broke. The tears came fast and hard, as he choked on the air and bile and tears. It burned the back of his throat and spilled from his lips, until he was catching vomit on his hands and Kolivan darted from the bed to wipe at his mouth with a wet towel. He cried and wept and screamed, until his voice grew hoarse and his body collapsed weak against the sheets. Every muscle hurt. Every nerve was aflame. He clawed and scratched at his body, until Kolivan pounced on the bed and cradled him close, stopping him from harm.

“I feel so afraid,” choked Shiro. “What if I’m too scared for sex? What if I always feel this fear? What if they won’t let us keep the child? I – I don’t know if I can ever leave this house again, especially knowing I’m not safe . . . I can’t go out in the day unless people recognise me, I can’t go out a-at night unless -! I can’t do this, Kolivan. I can’t . . .”

“You can. You will.” Kolivan squeezed him. “If you can redeem yourself as you have, you can endure this trauma and come through stronger than before. You are the man I admire. I have never seen one more selfless and considerate, Shiro. You can do this.”

“You won’t leave me? You won’t hate me because this – this –”

“This is not your fault. I will not stop loving you.”

Shiro cried until there were no tears left to cry . . . his mind grew hazy and vision blurred, while he was gently laid against sweat-soaked sheets and wiped over with a fresh cloth . . . blankets were pulled to his chin, while he was tucked in like a child, and gentle kisses were pressed to his trembling lips with broken sobs. Shiro was already drifting out of consciousness, while padded fingers stroked through his hair . . . the last thing he heard was four simple words . . . each one broken and quiet and mumbled . . .

“This is not your fault.”


	7. Chapter Six

_Shiro sat alone . . ._

_The swell of his stomach marked the three-month mark. He ran his hands over the stretched fabric of his black shirt, while his legs parted on the rocking chair in search of comfort, and – as the joints squeaked on each sway – a low tune was hummed under his breath. Kuro smiled from the doorway, as he leaned against the frame with arms crossed. The nursery was nearly complete. Murals adorned the walls, as a few paint cans rested on old sheets._

_It would take a few days to install the shelves, but the furniture was complete. No expense was spared. Kuro winced to see a cot more expensive than his car, while an array of teddies hung from a hammock that was too many to count, and the contents of the room – all in all – was more than they possessed throughout their entire childhood. The sun through the window caught at Shiro, giving him a soft glow and emphasising the lines about his face. It made him seem all the younger. Kuro sighed and kicked at the carpet with a smile._

_The window provided a beautiful view of the gardens beyond. Kolivan tended to the vegetables in a fresh allotment, while a neighbour leaned over the fence to chat about inane matters that required only nods in response, and the soft scent of freshly baked bread drifted through the hallway. Kuro fought back the saliva building in his mouth, as he scratched at his stomach and blushed to hear a low growl. Shiro chuckled from his chair._

_‘If you’re hungry, you should eat,’ said Shiro._

_Kuro dropped his head and walked into the nursery, while looking into the empty cot. He noticed a stuffed toy inside and took it in his hands, as he rolled his eyes and tossed it to Shiro, and it took only a muttered “suffocation risk” for Shiro to understand. Shiro threw back his head and pursed his lips. He stifled a curse, before he rocked forward and letting his head loll in circles with watery eyes, as his hands toyed with the fluff and buttons._

_‘I’ll never be a good father,’ whispered Shiro._

_‘Just because you can’t remember some safety stuff?’ Kuro shrugged. ‘Hey, you’re already doing more than most! Our mother ran out on us, Shiro. Our father gave up on me the second I started to get into trouble. You -? You’re already putting them first in all things. I admire you for that, you know? I couldn’t cut out caffeine and alcohol and runny eggs.’_

_‘I know, but pregnancy feels like the easy part. I just have to remember basic rules to keep them as healthy as possible, but when they’re born it gets so much more complicated. What if I’m not fully rehabilitated? What if I forget basic first-aid? What if I don’t –’_

_‘What if an asteroid hits the Earth tomorrow? I don’t know, Shiro.’_

_Kuro sat cross-legged on the floor. He craned his head upward, where – just behind Shiro – several framed photographs decorated the nursery wall in an elegant pattern . . . one featured Shiro and Kolivan at the altar for their wedding, while another showcased the first three-dimensional ultrasound of the foetus, and the last was taken at the engagement party for Kuro and Romelle, as they giggled and embraced by the banquet tables. The photographs told a tale of a family. Kuro lowered his gaze and smiled at Shiro._

_‘I just know I’d trust you to raise a kid,’ said Kuro._

_Shiro laughed, as he bounced the stuffed toy in his hands. Kuro climbed to his feet and came around the rocking chair, where he placed his hands roughly on a pair of broad shoulders, and – as a few seconds passed of awkward silence – Kuro massaged away the tension and knots from those solid muscles. He pretended not to hear as Shiro cried, even as a lump formed in his throat and tears formed in turn, but Shiro soon choked out:_

_‘Thank you, Brother.’_

* * *

It was quiet at the café.

The pedestrianised square led to very little traffic. A small van would occasionally drive down the cobbled roads at a crawl, as they searched for a delivery point, but those could easily be counted on one hand each and every hour. There was little background noise aside from the chatter of locals and tourists, some in small groups and others rushing alone in their various commutes. Shiro sipped at his tea with a warm smile.

A waft of steam struck his lips, as he half-closed his eyes with a sigh. The table outside was small and barely allowed room for Kolivan, whose parted legs allowed for Shiro’s between, and his arms were pressed to his sides in avoidance of jostling the waiters, even as they allowed for a wider berth and moved other tables to give better room. It was clear the café catered mostly to human customers, even with a few Altean women hidden among the staff, and someone would always mutter an apology whenever near them.

The complementary starters sat as a kind apology between them. A couple on the table behind complained about the canopy above, as the sun streamed down onto the cobbles and a few students shirked their uniforms to enjoy the sunshine, and life milled on around them at a fast pace, while Kolivan stared at the bags by their feet. He appeared to be mentally counting the shopping bags fit to burst, some almost toppling over with the weight of baby-items, and one in particular loaded with parenting books and school brochures.

Shiro reached across the table. He took Kolivan’s hand and squeezed, which immediately relaxed and turned in his grasp, and together their fingers entwined, as the soft pads of a thumb traced patterns on the inside of his palm. Kolivan smiled, but it was one that did not reach his eyes. He kept his gaze fixated on the basket of bread. Shiro bit into his lip with a wince, as he squeezed again and stared hard at the band around the ring-finger.

“They said you can definitely keep him,” whispered Shiro.  

The hand tightened. Kolivan flared his nostrils, while a low hiss escaped his lips, and his grip was so strong that Shiro flinched with pain, only for Kolivan to immediately release his hold and whisper aimlessly apologies as tears pricked at his eyes. Shiro continued to smile, as he took his hand yet again and brought it to his mouth. A soft kiss was pressed to knuckles. It relaxed Kolivan, who fell back into his seat and stared upward to the canopy above, while he chewed on his lips and furrowed his brow. A soft murmur eventually followed:

“What have they said about us raising him _together_?”

“It’ll take time to get an answer,” confessed Shiro. “You have no criminal record. You’re an esteemed member of the local community, have great medical health, passed the psychiatric tests . . . they interviewed all our family and friends, and you have perfect references . . . all I know is they said – worst case – you’re perfectly okay to raise him alone.”

“I am to raise him without my husband? His father?”

“In the worst case, I also get supervised visitation and keep parental rights. I still get a say in schools and vacations and all the important stuff, but just . . . can’t be alone with him. They told me that this is the absolute worst case, though, as they think I’ve been fully rehabilitated, but social services can’t take this lightly and it has to go through thorough checks.

“The best case is that I get to stay with you, but they’ll have random spot-checks. They said they will also have to do routine medical examinations and interviews with him, just to make sure he isn’t be harmed and is content in the home environment, and I’ll be legally required to have weekly therapy sessions, too. It’s inconvenient, but we’d be together. My biggest fear is that they’ll take him away the second he’s born . . . that I won’t even get to hold him . . .”

Shiro brought his hands to his eyes. He wiped away tears with broken laughter, as the waiter came along with their main courses and asked if all was well, and – with a muttered excuse about allergies – they were soon left alone with only their thoughts for company. It was an uncomfortable silence, as both awkwardly cut into their food with little clatters of cutlery on plates, but there was nothing really that could ease their fears. The rape had been traumatic in itself, but nothing compared to the fear of losing a child he already came to love.

The _ratatouille_ on his plate let loose the most delicious scent, while the roast pork was cooked to perfection with just the right amount of colour, and Shiro ran a hand over his stomach as he ate, with occasional glances downward. A few seconds passed until he noticed that Kolivan had paused with fork midway to his mouth, while he gazed lovingly towards that same hand with a beautiful smile, and whispered with complete adoration:

“You’ve changed for the better, Shiro.”

Shiro smiled back, as he took another bite. The swell of his stomach was large enough that maternity clothes were now a necessity, while passersby often commented on the unborn child, and a few would stop to ask whether it was Altean or Galra blood that made it possible, but each and every one treated it as a blessing. Not one person every caught the barely perceptible wince in his eyes, or the way his hands protectively covered his swollen abdomen, and not one knew the rush of adrenaline as fear coursed through him. Shiro pleaded:

“Have I changed? I _can’t_ lose him, Kolivan.”

“You are still donating whatever time and money available,” whispered Kolivan. “Did you not write a second book and donate all proceeds to the hospital? Did you not help rebuild a playground with your bare hands? I think this has all gone into consideration. They have a record of all you have done, enough that – were it not for your record – many would consider you a pillar of the community in all respects. I think this will look favourable on us.”

“Yeah, but how many people have _sinned_ like I’ve done? I have a record, Kolivan! It doesn’t matter how much I rehabilitate, because that’ll follow me around for life . . . I can’t work with kids, treat kids, live near kids . . . somehow they’ll make an exception just because the kid came from _my_ body? I don’t think so, I really don’t. I’m – I’m scared.”

“You know that taking the child from you is difficult. They would only do so if the child is at some risk, Shiro. It takes money and time and resources, which are lacking in our current economic climate, and staying with you would also benefit them.”

“I’d have complete and unrestricted _access_ to our son, though.”

“You also will have my presence.” Kolivan winced. “I know that Kuro sought to move into Romelle’s apartment, but let us consider asking them to stay in our home? I have put in my resignation at work, too. We are blessed to have careers with high wages, which means your wage alone is more than enough to support a small family and provide any extras.

“If I am the primary caregiver, I will be always with the child. It may eliminate some concern about your presence alone around them? I have also ordered what Kuro calls ‘nanny-cameras’ for the nursery, as well as security cameras for the main areas of the house, and I hope that this will put your mind at rest, as well as social services. We could also hire an in-house nanny, asking social services for recommendations. Let us work around this fear.”

A small breeze blew across the square. Shiro turned his head to the old church, where tourists milled outside and struggled to find the entrance inside, and near them a small boy dawdled so far behind his parent that he appeared lost, forcing a young girl to call out to him and ask whether he needed help. Shiro winced. A bout of nausea clawed at him, as he toyed with his food. He knew that would never be able to speak to a child in such a manner, even with the best intentions, lest people think the very worst. He gnawed at his lip and muttered:

“The doctor says it’s safe to run a paternity test.”

Kolivan nearly dropped his fork. It jostled in his grip, enough that the raw meat in its grasp fell onto the plate, and Shiro – swallowing back bile – realised that Galra cuisine was thankfully not a craving that would appease their unborn son. Kolivan squeezed his legs together, trapping Shiro’s between his thighs with a reassuring presence. He set his fork down and reached across to take Shiro’s free hand, as he whispered with his head held low:

“Do you think it necessary?”

Shiro turned his hand and clasped at Kolivan, as he lowered his head in turn. A low sigh escaped his lips, while he poked at his food with a little less interest, and he listened to the happy people around them . . . giggling schoolgirls, bickering old men, gossiping housewives . . . the world around them carried onward, while they both struggled to do the maths in their minds to put the worries at rest. Shiro lifted his head and smiled. He continued to eat with his other hand, while Kolivan stroked light circles on his palm.

“I’m sure you’re the biological father,” said Shiro. “The fact the test picked up on the pregnancy when I took it . . . those tests need you to be so far along before they work, but the hospital tests were negative and only on day five after the rape did it say I was pregnant, and the test said I was around two weeks, right? The scan said I’m exactly three months.”

“And the rape was two-and-a-half months ago,” said Kolivan.

“Precisely, that’s why I’m sure it’s yours. Any test _in utero_ comes with risks, so I’d rather wait until the baby is born unless we have no other choice. You said you wanted to raise them regardless of blood, right? I think we can get by without the test.”

Shiro put down his fork and took Kolivan’s other hand. They locked gazes with nervous smiles, enough that Shiro swallowed hard as his heart started to race, and memories flashed back of their first date . . . each one trailing off with incoherent ramblings, both speaking at exactly the same time, blushes as their hands accidentally touched . . . Shiro blinked back tears, as he gazed into the eyes of the man he loved. Kolivan gently extricated one hand, as he leaned across the table to stroke at his cheek. Shiro nuzzles into the touch.

“They may ask about it in the trial,” said Kolivan.

“I – I don’t want to think about that.”

“You have experienced this kind of trial before.” Kolivan winced. “I have read the transcripts, which were not a pleasant read to say the least. The defence attorney accused Keith of seduction with his costume and how he replied to you that night, as well as expressed that his going ‘willingly’ to your home implied some consent, and he was only _four_. . . this is –”

“Yeah, my lawyer warned me they might go rough on me.”

“I want you to speak against him, Shiro. It hurts me to see how his family support him, as if what he did is justified or his actions somehow excused, and it hurts me _because_ they still demonise you while applauding the _exact same_ actions cast against you! Is it wrong for you to harm another and yet fine for another to harm you? Is this ‘an eye for an eye’?”

“Is it better to ‘turn the other cheek’?” Shiro shrugged. “I already made him suffer every day since his rape, so what right have I to make him suffer more? I’m glad he’s being tried as a minor. I’m glad it’s a private trial. I’ll ask the jury for leniency, because – if it were up to me – I wouldn’t even have let it get this far . . . it’s not my fault the police took this as attempted murder and not just a case of rape or assault. I deserved what happened, Kolivan.”

“No. _No_ , Shiro. He does not get to play God! You deserved to be punished, which happened with time spent incarcerated and being placed onto a register. You suffered even more than the courts allocated with the vigilante justice that lost you an arm! This is what you call ‘overkill’ and is nothing more than senseless violence. This was vengeance, not justice!”

The tears burned at his eyes, as Shiro took in a shuddered breath. He cupped Kolivan’s hand, before he brought it down to the table and took clasped it between his own, while his lip trembled and his vision blurred until the world was distorted. They sat in silence. The half-eaten food grew cold and the steam soon disappeared, although Shiro yearned to finish his meal with some growls of his stomach, and yet he knew this was more important. He locked eyes with Kolivan, as he swallowed hard and expressed in a broken voice:

“Kolivan, I just can’t –”

A loud laugh broke into his consciousness.

Shiro slowly turned his head. _It was familiar._ He struggled to keep down his dinner, as cold dread coursed through each and every vein, and his mind swam with a light-headed sensation that blocked out all other senses. He was brought hurtling back to that night . . . _cold air on his bare flesh, bloodied skin clinging to dirtied fabric, the taste of tears mixing with acid and saliva and blood_. . . Shiro rise to his feet. There was no control over his limbs. He was on his feet and swaying . . . _swaying_. . . Shiro turned to face before the church.

Keith stood alone. A smile adorned his face, as he pushed his phone into his pocket, before he ran a hand through his mullet with an expression so carefree . . . so content . . . it was as if he hadn’t a care in the world, while his eyes glittered in the sunlight. There was a swell to his stomach, roughly at the three-month mark with his Galra blood. It was the same as Shiro. A cold sweat broke over Shiro, as he stalked towards Keith as if wading through treacle.

Kolivan cursed and ran to the waiter, hastily shoving twice the amount of the meal into his hands, and caught up with Shiro only a few steps from Keith, as he grabbed at his upper arms and begged him to turn around and forget what he witnessed. Shiro continued. The hands at his arms were strange . . . like something from a dream, there yet not there . . . only Keith was real, along with the pregnant swell that timed so tragically with that one night. Shiro stopped a foot from Keith and stared down, as coloured spots danced across his vision. He choked:

“Is it mine?”

A cold silence descended between them. Keith wrapped his arms around his abdomen, while his back straightened and head lifted high upward, and he glared at Shiro with a curl of his lip and a narrowing of his dark eyes, as he stepped instinctively backward. Kolivan came to Shiro’s side, where he draped a muscular arm over his shoulders and held tight onto his hand between them with his other. There were whispered words . . . ‘ _come, let us deal with this through out lawyer’_. . . Shiro struggled to breathe. He hyperventilated.

“I honestly don’t know,” said Keith.

“You don’t know?”

“I slept with Lotor that same night.” Keith blushed. “We didn’t do anything for weeks after that, because of the investigation and stuff, but . . . yeah . . . I left you and went straight to Lotor’s house and we just couldn’t wait any longer, so it could go either way.”

“How romantic,” spat Shiro.

“It was, actually. It started to rain and I was soaked to the skin . . . I was throwing rocks at his window, all distraught and guilty and angry and conflicted, but I looked up at him and saw the man that I loved more than anything, and I just -! I wept, because I was so overcome with love and respect. He raced downstairs to me, where he embraced me.

“He – ah – led me to his old tree-house. We sat and talked . . . we talked most of the night, like about how I loved him and how I was scared of being intimate and what I did to you . . . I didn’t expect him to forgive me, but he – he said he understood that it was karma. I – I was so relieved and – and he – and he just . . . I don’t know. We were there so vulnerable and the lightning flashed outside and we I was still soaked with rain and . . .

“He kissed me. One thing just led to another . . . I woke up to an old blanket over us, but the sun came in through the window and struck his bare shoulder . . . the skin was such a beautiful shade of purple, with his white hair like strands down his back, and his eyes twinkled as he woke up and the sunset gave him this golden glow . . . it – it was good.”

“So you raped me and then fucked him?”

“No, I _made love_ with him, okay?” Keith rolled his eyes. “Look, you don’t get to tell me what to do with my body! Do you forget that you raped me first? What I did was _justice_ , Shiro. I just made you feel what you did to me, and if you didn’t like that -? Well, neither did I.”

Guilt struck him. Shiro struggled to stand, as his knees finally gave way beneath him. He was caught by Kolivan who guided him against the large stones of the church and leaned him against the outer wall, while Keith remained stood on the pavement with feet kicking at the cobbled stones. It took all his strength not to slide to the floor, as he heaved great gulps of air and clenched onto Kolivan’s forearms for support. _He hurt Keith. He deserved this._ Shiro brokenly laughed, as tears fell down his cheeks and over his trembling lips.

“You cheated on Lotor,” spat Shiro.

He fought to stop his fingers from instinctively closing inward. He fought to breathe slow and deep, while he lost all peripheral vision and his sight blurred. _This is a panic attack,_ thought Shiro. It didn’t help to see Keith storm forward and point a finger an inch from his face, with clear disgust and rage coursing across his paled face . . . a curled lip, eyes like slits, tears threatening to fall in turn . . . Kolivan shoved him back and raised a warning hand. Keith shook his head and paced . . . _back and forth, back and forth_. . . Shiro retched.

“No, I didn’t,” said Keith. “I did what I did to you out of anger. I wanted you to suffer and I wanted to reclaim my trauma and I wanted to face my fears, none of which was borne from lust or love, and if I’d beat you up then that wouldn’t be cheating . . . same thing.”

“That could be _my_ child in there, Keith.”

“Yeah, well, looks like that could be my child in _there_ , too. If that is my kid, don’t think that I’m not going to push for full custody. At least I went against someone my own size, but what kid has a chance against a fully grown adult? I know I didn’t. You don’t _deserve_ to have a child, Shiro, and they don’t deserve to be used as a fuck-toy by a monster.”

Keith spat at the ground. The cold truth struck Shiro like a brick wall. He remembered what his therapist said about the child . . . _‘your attraction does not define you, you will not necessarily go on to abuse based on your attraction, at least any more than a man may rape his sister based on an attraction to women’_. . . was he still a risk . . . was he a danger . . . how could he live if he ever harmed his son? Shiro slid to the pavement, as he parted his legs to make room for his stomach. Keith finally spoke in a broken voice:

“Lotor and I are going to raise this child together.”

Keith wept when he marched away, losing himself in the crowds until he could no longer be seen. He disappeared until there was no hint that he was ever there, but the memory of that unborn child lingered in Shiro’s mind. They were pregnant. There was every chance Keith would fight to take his child from him, while he would have to fight to learn the parentage of the other that lived outside him, and it was one more fight. . . one more trauma . . .  

Shiro felt his world implode.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Self-Harm/Suicide Attempt.

_The world stopped._

_Kuro froze in the doorway . . . Shiro curled up on the bathroom floor, Shiro rocking back-and-forth, Shiro weeping verging on hysteria . . . there was blood across the pristine white tiles, while the bathtub taps continued to let loose a stream of water, which sent great clouds of steam high into the air around them. The water fled through the overflow, while ripples appeared across the surface. Time continued even as Kuro grew faint._

_The panic locked his feet to the ground, while his heart raced in his throat. Every second counted, but his vision was speckled with coloured lights . . . bile in his throat, tears at his eyes . . . he pressed a trembling hand to the doorframe, while he watched as Shiro held the razor in his unharmed hand. It was just an inch from the shredded flesh of his wrist, as if waiting . . . waiting . . . waiting . . . Shiro was pale, but the cuts were horizontal and shallow, so that there was every chance he had missed tendons and nerves. Kuro blinked back tears._

_‘Okay, I’m – I’m here, Shiro.’_

_He slowly walked into the room, careful not to spook Shiro. The weeping never stopped. It took all his strength to crouch down and reach towards his brother, who was oblivious to his presence, and he waited . . . waited until his hand was an inch from that blade . . . before he snatched it from Shiro and tossed it into the bathtub. It cut into his palm and left a clean line down the flesh, but the pain barely registered. He shouted for Kolivan . . . screaming for help, as he grabbed for a towel and wrapped it tight around the bleeding wrist._

_There was no fight. There was no response. Shiro let himself be moulded and moved with no sense of resistance, even as his naked form shivered against the tiles, and Kuro cursed to realise why only one wrist was cut . . . it was impossible to cut the prosthetic. Tears streamed down his face, as he lifted the limb high into the air. He cradled Shiro to his chest. Kolivan soon appeared . . . ringing for the ambulance . . . pleading for Shiro to be okay . . ._

_Kuro wept in time with Shiro._

_* * *_

The light hurt his eyes . . .

Shiro rapidly blinked, as he struggled to adjust his vision. The room was a stark white, with only a window opposite allowing in any natural light, and the bulb above – swinging in an odd rhythm – cast eerie shadows across the plain walls. He fidgeted in the bed. The sheets were inexpensive and plain, but thick and thermal and too warm against his limbs. They crinkled against the grey gown that covered his body. It was uncomfortable.

He let his head roll to his side. The organic arm was wrapped in thick bandages, but a throbbing pain lingered against the skin when he tried to bend the wrist, and a low hiss of pain escaped his lips, as he dropped his forearm onto the mattress. A figure appeared from the other side of the curtains, as Kuro sniffed and wiped away a tear. Shiro turned his head again. Kolivan sat in the guest chair on the other side, where he rested a hand on the cybernetic hand and one on a muscular shoulder, as he leaned in to press a kiss to a clammy cheek.

It took a few minutes for things to register. Shiro moved his hands to his stomach, where he ran them over the small swell, and he breathed long and hard to focus on the sensations, until something fluttered inside him like small wings. He let loose a sigh. Kuro chuckled through his sobs, as he dropped onto the bed beside Shiro. The mattress dipped with his weight, where he squeezed at Shiro’s leg, and forced a trembling smile.

“I am glad to see you awake,” whispered Kolivan.

The tears finally spilled. Shiro wept through broken laughter, as he cast his eyes from brother to husband, and he reached for them to hold onto their hands, while a nurse appeared from the doorway with a nervous smile. Kuro reluctantly pulled away to make room for her examination, as he sat himself at the foot of the bed and massaged at Shiro’s feet, and Shiro was briefly reminded of when they were children. He sniffed and shook his head. It was the same room as last time, with the same people at his bedside, and the same turmoil . . .

“I think I have _déjà vu_ ,” teased Shiro.

Kolivan grunted, as he squeezed at Shiro’s hand. The nurse ignored the sign of disapproval, even as Shiro muttered an apology and Kolivan whispered words of reassurance, and she busied herself with taking his blood pressure and checking at the wound, where bandages were lifted and the cut gently touched at its edges. He hissed and winced, but remained still as she smiled and redressed his wrist. A few seconds passed, before she took his other vitals and leaned forward to match his eye level. The words she spoke were overly soft:

“Do you know where you are, Mr Takashi?”

“I’m guessing the hospital,” said Shiro.

“You tried to _kill_ yourself,” spat Kuro. “I – I had to wash your blood from my hands! They sedated you because you just . . . you just . . . I don’t know, it’s like you zoned out! You always kept me on the straight and narrow, just like you were always my rock and inspiration, and then I find you – you – you . . . I kept flashing back to last time. I was so scared . . .”

“I – I don’t think I was trying to kill myself. It’s like this haze fell down on me, that’s all. I couldn’t get all the fears and sadness and hopelessness out of my head. I just remember breaking down and thinking: ‘if I hurt myself, at least I’ll feel _something_ ’.”

“So it was what . . . self-harm?”

“I don’t want to die, Kuro. I’m guessing I won’t get out of here without seeing the on-call psychiatrist, right? Well, I’ll pass with flying colours. I just need an out-patient appointment to talk to someone about this, but . . . I’m scared. I’m scared they’ll take my child from me, okay? I couldn’t bear that! I couldn’t bear loving them only to lose them. I – I just –”

The tears fell in earnest. Kolivan slid onto the bed and threw open his arms, as Shiro dove toward him and clung to his shirt with a deathly grip, and soon the tears soaked through the shirt and left a stain on the violet fabric. He soon dropped one hand down onto his stomach, where he massaged at the skin with choked gasps. It took all his strength to find his voice, as he pulled back from Kolivan just enough to lock eyes. The red cheeks and bloodshot eyes betrayed any attempt at self-restraint, as Shiro mumbled with trembling lips:

“Is my child okay? Did I – Did I hurt them?”

Kolivan smiled and pressed their foreheads together. It was a simple gesture, but Shiro immediately relaxed his muscles and slowed his breaths, and the world returned to a normal speed, as the sunlight warmed his limbs and brightened the room. The nurse took the charts from the base of his bed, where Kuro was forced to move for better access. Shiro was barely able to see through his tears, but somehow – as she sat beside him and flicked the pages – he was able to see the ultrasound scans and various charts. He swallowed hard.

“Your child seems to be in perfect health,” said the nurse.

“Oh, thank goodness,” gasped Shiro.

“They were shallow wounds to your wrist. We were able to avoid stitches, just as you _should_ be able to avoid any permanent scars, but we will require you to have an assessment with our psychiatrist just to assess any potential risk. If you feel up to a brief conversation, the social worker is also here to help put your mind at risk. We can provide a chaperone.”

“My husband and brother can stay here, right?” The nurse nodded. “In that case, I don’t think I’ll need to request a chaperone or a witness. I – I just . . . you _promise_ my child is healthy and that I didn’t hurt them? I don’t think I could cope if I hurt them.”

“I promise that your baby is completely fine for his stage of development.”

“Three months, right? He’s definitely –”

The words stopped. Shiro slowly turned his head to lock eyes with her, as his hands slowly slid to his stomach and rubbed light circles at the taut flesh, and a slight movement against his palm spoke of movement from within, along with a sore ache from the inside. He stared at his stomach. A warm smile broke over his lips, as Kolivan burst out into tears of happiness and pressed his hands over the swollen stomach. Shiro laughed and blinked back tears.

“A boy?” Shiro asked. “I’m having a boy?”

A loud gasp was his only response. The nurse muttered and mumbled her apologies, but Shiro shook his head and laughed all the louder, as he ran his hands over Kolivan’s cheeks and necks, before he pressed dozens and dozens of kisses to every inch of skin. He kissed away the tears, whole Kolivan touched and stroked all over Shiro, as if to remember that this was _real_. . . they were going to have a son. Kuro cleared his throat and moved to the window, while they continued to laugh and cry and whisper words to one another.

“We’re having a son,” whispered Kolivan.

There were words spoken . . . something about a social worker, something about being right back . . . Shiro barely noticed the nurse leave, even as the soft slapping of her shoes echoed about the room, and he held Kolivan’s hands close to his lips, as he kissed each and every knuckle with choked gasps and whispered compliments. He noticed his reflection in those bright eyes, as if he were the centre of Kolivan’s world. It was perfect.

Kuro coughed again, as two social workers entered the room. Shiro pulled away with a laugh, as he wiped away the tears from his eyes, while Kolivan continued to sit beside him and held him in a warm embrace, and – as his eyes finally focussed – a young woman from Balmera came into sight. The other person was a human woman, but one that he failed to recognise unlike the former whose smile he would never forget. They stopped at the foot of the bed, where the one from Balmera bowed deep and asked in a quiet voice:

“Do you remember me, Shiro?”

“You’re Shay, right?”

“That’s right,” said Shay. “I’m just here for a quick assessment. The doctors said that you were in perfect physical health, and your nurse told us you seem coherent and capable of conversation, but I need you to know that you can stop this discussion at any time. This is simply an unofficial introduction. Nothing you say will go on record.”

“What’s the point of that?” Kuro asked.

“We just want to get a brief idea for what happened from Shiro’s perspective. It’s to make sure that he isn’t at any risk in the home environment, while he’s getting the full support he requires in the aftermath of his trauma. That being said, he has yet to be seen by the psychiatrist and is in a vulnerable state. It would be unethical to take his words as evidence.

“We’ve been working closely with Shiro’s parole officer. Once he has recovered, we will need to engage in a full investigation to make sure that the child’s safety is guaranteed, but also that Shiro will not be at risk of mental or physical harm in turn. Our current plan – _very_ tentative and subject to changes – is to allow Shiro to keep the child under a very strict set of criteria, so my priority is to make you all aware of what is required.”

Shiro asked: “I get to keep my son?”

“ _If_ the psychological evaluation is cleared, as well as that you agree to our conditions –?” Shay sighed and smiled. “It is a possibility, which is why I did not want to fuel your depression by letting you believe that separation is an inevitable outcome. That would be an absolute last-resort and one I feel may not be applicable in this case.”

Shiro collapsed with a sigh. He fell limp against Kolivan, as muscular arms encircled him and kept him firmly safe against a taut chest, and he smiled with tears again pricking at his eyes, as he stroked at his stomach and listened to the heartbeat of his husband. The sheer relief that coursed through him was intense and ran through every vein, as he grew lightheaded and sparks drifted across his vision, and it took a minute for him to again focus. Kolivan stroked at his hair with gentle touches, as he breathed deep and said for Shiro:  

“Our greatest fear was to lose our son.”

Shay lowered her head, as her expression turned sympathetic. The room brightened as Kuro opened wide the window, where he pushed the blinds back to extremes to maximise light, and outside – in the hospital garden – birds sang with a loud tune. A few snippets of a stolen conversation could be heard, as a patient stole a cigarette with another. Shiro rubbed at his wrist, while Kolivan reluctantly parted just enough to give him some space, and together they maintained enough self-control to give their full attention to Shay.

“I want to give you a brief run through of events,” said Shay. “You will be seen one-to-one with a psychiatrist, which will be followed by one-to-one interviews with myself and my colleagues . . . this will include individual interviews with Kolivan, Kuro, and Romelle. We will conduct home visits as well, while you engage in regular therapy sessions.”

“So – So what are the conditions to keep my son?”

“We will require weekly checks for an indefinite period, followed by monthly checks, and these will be random and at our discretion. We will also require for you to attend therapy, while making sure that there is always someone in the home environment.”

A low breeze came through the window. Kolivan was already pulling the blankets high to his chin, as he lowered the bed and tucked the edges around Shiro, and it was hard to be annoyed by one who cared so much for his safety and health, even as Shiro furrowed his brow and tried to process the words. He pictured the ideal in his head . . . bouncing his son on his knee, singing songs taught by his father in their native tongue, kissing his hair and breathing in that baby scent . . . it may have just been an empty dream. Shiro swallowed hard.

“I can’t be alone with my son,” he whispered.

“We were told that Kuro and Romelle are living in the home,” said Shay. “Kolivan has also stated you intend to hire a live-in nanny and that he intends to quit work, with himself as the primary caregiver, and we were also told there would be nanny-cameras. This has helped considerably in helping eliminating concern on our part, but concerns are still there.

“I will discuss the details in full with you later. Why don’t I leave you to talk things through with your family for now? I will be back after lunch to run the risk assessment I mentioned, then tomorrow – after your psychiatric assessment – we can have a long talk about what is best for you and the child. I have every faith in your rehabilitation, but there are checks and balances to be kept, and we also must know you have healthy coping mechanisms.”

“But if we listen to your recommendations, we can keep our son?” Shiro let a tear fall. “I have no problems with anything you said. It’s all just one day at a time, right? If I can prove I’m no risk, eventually – some years from now – the conditions will lessen and the random checks will be less frequent? I just want us to one day be a real family.”

Shay smiled and nodded in a noncommittal manner. No one said a word. It was too early for anyone to make promises, but still Shiro felt his heart sink in his chest . . . a heavy weight, a tightening sensation . . . no tears were left to cry, but still a terrible sadness overcame his mind. He brought a hand to his chest, where his wedding ring still hung from its chain. Shiro held tight to the precious metal, as he breathed deep and closed his eyes. The metal left a visible imprint on his palm when he released the band. He sighed.

 “Let me give you some time,” said Shay.

A soft bow preceded her exit. Shay left with her human companion, with only a click of the door marking her departure, and he knew – from experience alone – they would be waiting on the other side of the door for a sign that it was okay to continue. They would want to briefly talk to him alone, so as to eliminate abuse as a cause for his self-harm. Kuro paced back and forth, as low hisses blew wide his nostrils, and he spat out a cold question:

“Keith did this, didn’t he?”

Shiro winced, as he lay still on the bed. Kolivan distracted him with a cool wash cloth to his forehead, while constantly trying to bring a glass of water to his lips, and every breath or movement would garner a gasp from Kolivan, who would momentarily freeze and continue with running his hands over any perceived hurt. Shiro smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. A cold dread ran through him, as he pressed his hands to his stomach, and he struggled to control his breathing as he watched Kuro wring the air with violent gestures.

“He’s pregnant,” muttered Shiro.

“Okay, so we push for custody of the kid, right?”

“He has no idea if the baby is mine or Lotor’s.” A tear ran down his cheek. “I think sperm can live for a week inside the womb, and he fucked us both that same night, so it’s anyone’s guess which of us is the father, Kuro.  Still, I – I don’t see it as my child. It’s _not_ my child, so I don’t even want to think about pushing for custody of any kind.”

“But that could be your –”

“– flesh and blood? I don’t care. Keith _raped_ me, Kuro . . . I was forced against my will; this isn’t like forgetting to pull out, a condom splitting, or even trying for a child. This is someone _taking_ from me my genetic material against my consent. I had _no fucking part_ in creating any child in there, so – as far as I’m concerned – I’m no more than an anonymous sperm donor.

“If this child inside me was Keith’s biological material, no one would think twice if I chose to give it for adoption and washed my hands of the whole trauma, right? This is _no_ different. I do not want to constantly have this dredged up in court, maybe even being forced to pay fucking child support to the man that raped me, and then have to look that child in the eye and always resent it . . . always seeing my abuser . . . it’s not fair on them, either.

“Keith can keep the child. He made that choice. If he wants Lotor to be the father, I don’t care whether that’s a biological connection or merely a legal one. Family isn’t about blood, Kuro. Our mother abandoned us, so blood isn’t exactly a sign of affection or loyalty or safety, but the people who matter . . . they’re the people who stick around and _want_ to stick around.”

“Okay, so – so what does that mean?”

“It means we worry about our own child,” said Kolivan. “We are certain that I am the biological father, but I wish to raise our son regardless of his blood. The fear is that Keith has threatened to fight for custody and this seemingly has triggered Shiro’s deterioration in mental health, which is why I think we should now take the paternity test, Kuro.”

“Can you arrange that now? Like _right_ now?”

Kolivan rapidly blinked. He looked to Shiro for consent; Shiro nodded with a warm smile, as he caught Kolivan’s hand and squeezed tight, with his thumb running over the wedding band with a gentle touch, and something unspoken lingered between them. A warm kiss was pressed to his forehead, as Kolivan laughed through brimming tears. He stroked at the swollen stomach. They would prove the child belonged to Kolivan. It took every ounce of strength for Kolivan to pull away and stand beside the bed, as his lips trembled.

“I will be right back,” said Kolivan.

He kissed quickly at Shiro’s cheek, before he darted from the room. The bed was still warm when Kuro marched forward. Two hands slammed onto the bed-frame. Shiro jumped upright with a loud gasp, while he clenched at his chest his eyes widened and mouth ran dry . . . _‘Do you get off on this? Do you want this?’ . . . fingers pressing to his private places, privacy violated and bodily autonomy stolen . . ._ Shiro fought to remain in the present.

A hand shot to his necklace, as he gripped the ring again. It helped him to breathe. He focussed on Kuro’s dark eyes and flushed red face, where he saw only the brother that grew up alongside him and who he always swore to protect, and Kuro pointed an aggressive finger in his direction, as he curled his lip and stamped his foot. There were tears fresh in his eyes, which he fought to hold back with every glance to Shiro, and soon his hand clenched so tight that veins bulged on his forearm. Kuro spat out in a dark voice:

“You got to let me fuck Keith up, dude.”

“You want to fight a pregnant man?”

“Well, I guess not, but let me do _something_.” Kuro pulled at his hair. “I can trash his car or graffiti his house or steal his stuff, like . . . I don’t know . . . send a message? I know some guys that would ambush him for a few hundred, hurt him just a little without hurting the baby, and make sure he wouldn’t fucking _dare_ to go for parental rights, you get me?”

“I’m not going to let you do that,” said Shiro.

“Why the fuck not?”

“You made huge progress, Kuro! You cleaned yourself up. You have a good job, a good fiancé, a good reputation . . . do you want to ruin it all for someone like Keith? Do you think he’s worth decimating every last good thing in your life? He’s not worth that. He’s worth nothing, Kuro. If you go after him, it proves he has some control over you.

“Don’t let him get a reaction. Do you know where revenge gets us? It’s why Keith raped me in the first place . . . you go after him, so Lance will go after you . . . where does it end? I just want to prove that my son belongs to Kolivan, so I cut all ties with him and end this farce, and I want to move on with my life . . . I want my _family_ , Kuro. I want us to move out of town, start afresh, and just forget all the bad things in life. This child is a blessing.”

Kuro trembled. He stood with hands clenched at his sides, while he took in large gulps of breath, and Shiro – with pursed lips and no judgement – handed Kuro a plump pillow. It was snatched out of his hands. Kuro pressed his face deep into the synthetic fibres, before he screamed long and hard until his voice grew hoarse and all breath left him, and when he pulled the pillow away . . . a slight stain of saliva on the fabric, lips panting desperately for breath . . . Kuro finally let his tears fall down his cheeks and choked out:

“What if he pushes for child support of his kid?”

“He won’t,” said Shiro.

“We have the same DNA. You know that, right?” Kuro tossed the pillow back. “Why don’t I say that I fucked Keith one night? It’d literally be our word against his, and the DNA would only prove it was one of us that was the father . . . it’d save you the stress of –”

“I have _ethical_ means to stop that fix things, Kuro. I’d be more than willing to sue him for medical expenses and emotional distress, which should be a deterrent, and I’m also willing to threaten to attempt custody, which could get messy and expensive with both our records. It’ll be tangled up so bad in potential drama, it won’t be worth it.”

“So you raise your son and he raises his son? I’ll support whatever you decide, Shiro, but I would start looking at a new house soon, because if I fucking see his smarmy face -? I’ll beat it into a pulp. It’s like he’s raping you all fucking over again.”

“Yeah, well, this will be the last time.”

Shiro reached out a hand. Kuro ran to his side and pushed his hand away, instead opting to throw himself against Shiro and cling tight to him, and Shiro – arms still parted and stiff in surprise at the sudden embrace – blinked in surprise. Kuro wept against him, as he buried his head into the crook of Shiro’s neck. It was like their childhood again . . . Kuro crying about their father’s favouritism, Shiro rubbing his back and reassuring him . . . both arms came instinctively around Kuro and held tight, as he cried in turn and choked out:

“Let’s go forward, not back.”

A low laugh escaped Kuro. He laughed through his tears, while continuing to cling to Shiro, and Shiro knew that together they would conquer all that came their way, just like every other battle experienced in their lives since birth. Kolivan was with them with unconditional love, while Shay would make sure the child would be protected, and even Romelle would offer support when needed. They would be able to be a family . . . a unit . . .

This could work.


	9. Chapter Eight

_Kuro stood in the doorway._

_Shiro sat on the swing beneath a large oak tree; the swell of his stomach affected his centre of gravity and forced slow movements, while his feet remained firmly planted on the grass below, and his hands clung to the ropes in an attempt at balance. The shirt he wore was stretched to the point of obscenity, as it struggled to stay closed around his pale flesh. It would only be a matter of time before his nephew was welcomed into the world._

_Kolivan stood beside Shiro, where he laughed at some retold joke. They joked and teased and taunted one another, until Shiro stood and pulled Kolivan against him, and – as both finally fell silent – their lips were pressed together in a lingering moment of intimacy. It brought a blush to Kuro, who quickly turned away as they embraced. The kitchen behind him was bright and colourful, redecorated according to Shiro’s whim, and a selection of newspapers lay scattered across the counters. One headline stood out in particular:_

_Keith Kogane Sentenced for Sexual Assault._

_A warm scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted across the kitchen, while Romelle hummed an old song and danced to and fro before the oven, and – as she turned around – Kuro smiled to see her dressed in an old apron and covered head to toe in flour. He walked across the room to her side, where a quick snatch of the papers was all it took to dump them into the bin. Keith would never bother them again. Kuro leaned low and wrapped his arms around her waist, while she threw her arms around his neck. He mumbled out:_

_‘They’ll be okay, won’t they?’_

_The baking bread let loose a delicious scent, mingling with the coffee and her soft perfume, and he buried his face into the crook of her neck, as he closed his eyes and half-danced with her as they swayed on the spot to an unheard tune. A stack of letters lay on the side . . . parole officer, social services, hospital payments . . . Kuro turned his back on them, as he started a strong waltz and sung out the melody to his fiancé. It felt good._

_A high-chair sat at the head of the dining table, while sterilised bottles lined up the far counter, and a calendar hung on the back of the door to mark off vaccinations and check-ups and anticipated milestones. Kolivan laughed again outside, as he walked towards the house with Shiro at his side. The four of them were a family. Kuro pulled back from Romelle with tears forming in his eyes, as he tried to contain the excess of emotion, and Romelle stroked at his cheek with a gentle giggle and a faint blush. He nuzzled against her palm._

_‘They’ll be fine,’ swore Romelle._

_* * *_

A cry rang from within.

It was high-pitched and loud, enough that he winced. He dropped a hand to his stomach, now strangely flat and still unfortunately soft, and his fingers toyed with the black shirt that rested over the flesh speckled with stretch-marks. A staggered sigh escaped his lips. He closed his eyes as a woman sang from inside, while the cries tapered off into low whines, and nothing about them was recognisable, at least not in the sense he could say: that is my seed.

Shiro swallowed hard.

He took in a deep breath and opened his eyes. A loud knock on the door-knocker rang out through the small suburban home, while Shiro bent to pick his briefcase from the ground, and his callused fingers dug around the leather, until knuckles turned white with pressure. He struggled to hear any other sounds, as his heartbeat pounded over and over in his ears. There was a faint cry of someone yelling ‘coming’ in an Altean accent. There were footsteps.

The door was thrown open, just as Shiro hitched his breath. Coran stood tall. He was a lot older than Shiro remembered, with deep wrinkles about his eyes and around his mouth, and a streak of grey ran through his red locks of hair, as if the stress of the past few years had deeply affected him. Shiro wracked his brain to remember his relation to Lance . . . _father, friend, maybe his nanny_. . . Shiro shook his head and forced a smile. It was forced and raised too much on one side, as he awkwardly fidgeted with his briefcase before him.

“I’m here to speak with Lance,” said Shiro.

Coran rolled his eyes and opened his mouth. The words died on his lips . . . aborted before they could even begin . . . a hand slapped down on his shoulder, while Lance drifted into quick view at Coran’s side with a very strained smile in turn. A young boy laughed in the background, only to be hushed by a woman and ushered away into a room with a slam of a door, and the sound of a familiar cartoon drifted through the hall. Lance hardened his face and hissed through his nose, as he stepped further to the side to block all sight of the room.

“I’ll take it from here, Coran,” said Lance.

A low huff was the only response, after Coran muttered: ‘call me if you need me, lad’. Coran marched away at a quick speed towards the room, where Allura rushed out at the exact moment, and – as they traded places – Lance stepped to one side and nodded to Shiro. It was clear that no one wished for him to see the children, especially by how that particular door was only allowed to open a mere crack for people to squeeze through, and yet he could not resent them or blame them for their cautiousness. Shiro stepped inside.

He followed Lance and Allura into the kitchen, while Coran squealed out from the other room, and some games or other began with the children and another adult. Shiro smiled. It brought instant memories of the past few weeks . . . _Kuro bouncing Ulaz on his knee, Romelle singing songs in Altean, the scent of freshly baked goods filling the air_. . . Shiro brought his hand to the wedding ring at his chest, while he counted the seconds until he returned home.

The kitchen was a strange design. It was effectively split in two; Altean technology and ingredients filled one half of the room, while human technology and Cuban cuisine littered the other side of the room, and a large dining table stood as the centrepiece. Every inch of space was filled with drawings etched in crayon, various report cards, and textbooks ranging across a wide age range of various academic levels. Allura sat at the far end of the table, where Lance took a seat at her side, and Shiro could only say in a low voice:

“I wanted to talk to you in person, if you don’t mind.”

“You said this was urgent,” said Allura.

“Lotor is with Alfor and Bandor,” added Lance. “Coran is also with them. If you even set _foot_ near that lounge, we will call the police and that will be the end of this discussion. I wouldn’t have you in our house, but – yeah – I won’t deny things are messy, and with Keith being sentenced and stuff . . . I don’t know. Just say your piece and get out, okay?”

“You have to understand, Shiro. We do appreciate you talking down Keith’s sentence, as without your testimony then he may very well have been tried as an adult, but you are still the man that betrayed our trust and devastated the life of our son. We cannot trust you.”

“I understand that,” said Shiro. “I won’t be long, I promise.”

Shiro took a seat opposite them. He placed the briefcase on the table, before twirling to the correct combination and opening it wide to reveal a collection of paperwork. It revealed all the records of his career and home life, with case files of patients alongside medical reports for his newborn son, and it would take a few days to properly file everything at home and in the office, while he continued to recover from the birth. Shiro took a large envelope from the top of the various stacks, before he closed the lid and left it unlocked. He asked:

“How long does Keith have left?”

He held the letter out towards Lance, as he nodded for him to take the envelope. Lance pressed his lips into a fine line, until they turned white with pressure, and soon snatched the paper from the cybernetic hand with a loud huff, while slamming it onto the table before him with his fingers pressing it flat against the wood. They stared hard at one another. The question lingered unanswered, as the ticking of a clock marked off the passing seconds, and Allura gently squeezed at Lance’s shoulder enough to prompt him to answer:

“Five months left of his six month sentence.”

“He will be released on his eighteenth birthday,” said Allura. “I am told he will still be on the sex register and be on probation, as those six months are actually part of a seven-year sentence in total, and any breach of the terms of his release will mean immediate incarceration in an adult prison, as he will be forced to complete his term.”

“Part of the terms of release is no contact with you.”

“I know that,” said Shiro. “I was given permission to write to him. The guards will read the letter before you give it to Keith, but I wanted to give it to you first . . . I figured you’d want to read it as his guardians. It’s just a letter of apology. I owe Keith a real and formal apology for what I did to him, but I also needed to let him know I forgive him, too.

“We – _my family_ – decided against moving home, but we’ve made changes to our lives. I’m now working a few towns over instead of in the local area, and Kuro and Romelle are working near to me, too. We only shop in that town. We only socialise in that town. I heard that you guys were moving soon, too, so I figured this will take stress away from both Keith and me . . . no accidentally running into each other, no worrying about that. . .”

Shiro ran a hand over his face. The dryness of his mouth was a distraction, but he noticed no offer for refreshments and expected no offer in turn. He paused with his fingertips over the raised keloid scar across his cheeks, while tracing it from left to right, and dark memories flashed back of his abuse in prison and the regular fights that left his scarred. A part of him prayed that Keith would not learn right from wrong the hard way, much like Shiro had done, but an equal part felt nothing but indifference. He dropped his hands onto the table.

“I think we all need a fresh start.” Shiro sighed. “I know I was able to turn my life around, which is why I know that Keith will do the same. He has a good family that support him, just as he’ll get good counsellors and doctors to watch over him, and – when he’s released – he’ll have his fiancé and son waiting for him. I don’t know if an apology from me will help him on his road to recovery, but I hope it might give some closure and help him a little.”

“Thank you,” said Allura. “We shall most certainly deliver the letter; Keith was most distraught that he would have to be parted from his son for so long, especially when he was forced to say goodbye after he recovered from the birth, and – in a strange way – I think this brief pain has taught him that now his actions truly will have consequences.”

“It’s also made him reassess some stuff,” added Lance.

“Indeed, for the longest time he believed what he did to be just. I think he never considered that he would be punished for his crime, especially that he could have been tried as an adult, but he says that his time inside has been difficult . . . he cannot comprehend what it must have been like for you, as you endured a worse crime and an adult prison, too.

“I doubt he will ever forgive you, but he has seen people find redemption. He has met other young men who have worked towards an education and found prison employment, and one has even studied law to help others within the prison. Keith accepts that sometimes it is possible for a person to grow and evolve, as it is the crime we must condemn and not the criminal, and he has even expressed a desire to find a career in law itself.”

A small smile crossed Shiro’s lips. He toyed with the handle of his briefcase, while picking at a thread that was loose from wear, and yet the engraved initials on the metal clasps were still crystal clear, while the shine on the leather reflected back the light above. Shiro ran his hands over a small scuff from where he once dropped it in surprise at a visit from Kolivan at work, and a small scorch mark stained the corner where it was pressed against the radiator while they made love on his desk. He blushed and thought of all the memories, as he whispered:

“I’m glad Keith is getting his life together.”

The world went on in all respects. Shiro could mark an entire lifetime by the scars on his body and on his possessions, even down to the small spit-up on his shirt from where Ulaz was burped after breakfast, and – while the past could never be undone – he knew he would be able to shape the future into something beyond expectations. Keith would one day be able to learn from the past just the same, as he grew into a better person. Lance asked:

“What about your kid, Shiro?”

A low sigh escaped his lips, as Shiro pushed back in his chair. The sleepless nights showed on his face, as black bags marked underneath his eyes, and yet there was still a glow about him, as every thought to his son brought tears and small chuckles. He ran his hands over his face and wiped away the tears, while he tilted back his head and stared at the ceiling with the smile unmoving from his expression. Shiro reached into his suit pocket, where a small mitten waited to be returned to its partner, and he ran a callused thumb over the wool.

“You have a record, too,” continued Lance.

“So does Keith, but no one worries about his parenting skills.” Shiro shrugged. “I used to try and justify my attractions, such as how you’re clearly attracted to women and yet you don’t force yourself on every woman you see, and . . . well . . . you probably wouldn’t be attracted to your sister or daughter or mother, right? I learnt I don’t need to justify myself, though.

“The fact is simple: I’m a good parent. I have social services supervising our home environment, and Kolivan is a stay-at-home parent, so I think that we’re in a place where people know I _can’t_ cause harm, which . . . it’s not the same as them _trusting_ I won’t do any harm, but trust is earned and not commanded. I broke their trust. It’s only right that I have to prove myself for the restrictions to gradually be released, and I accept that.

“That’s part of why I’m here, too.” Shiro took some forms from his briefcase. “These are the results from the paternity tests both _in utero_ and after the birth, which prove that Kolivan is the biological father and I’m the biological carrier. Keith threatened for custody when I last saw him, but the fact is that he has no rights to the child and my child is safe.”

“And it’s definitely Kolivan’s child?”

“Ulaz belongs to Kolivan biologically and legally, yes.”

Shiro slid the forms across the table. A photograph sat on top of the papers; Ulaz bore yellow eyes identical to his Galra father, complete with white hair that sat messy atop his head, and his facial features – angular like Shiro – marked him as partially human. There was no mistaking him as their biological son, with even his expression identical to Kolivan. It took only a few minutes for both Allura and Lance to be satisfied that everything was in order, as they slid back the papers for Shiro to store away within the briefcase.

“Look, I know Keith will never forgive me,” said Shiro. “I don’t actually want his forgiveness at this point, because I know that chasing after someone else’s approval will only hold me back, and what I need is to go forward in life. I never want to hurt anyone again. I want to do right by people and help people. I want to learn from the past . . .”

“So you came here to cut ties,” observed Allura.

“I think it best we start afresh. I hurt Keith and Keith hurt me. If we keep clinging to these ideas of some sort of ideal retribution, we’ll just drive each other crazy and obsess over our traumas. I want more for both of us, Allura. It’s time we let go of the past.”

Shiro stood and took briefcase into hand. He pulled it from the table, where it rested against his leg with a reassuring weight, and his thumb ran against the familiar scratches and marks, even as he thought back to Kuro . . . _‘you know you can afford a new one, right? Hell, even I could afford to buy you one at a push’ . . ._ Shiro crossed the kitchen back to the doorway, where he pressed a hand to the frame and paused for a few seconds.

They stayed seated at the table, as he turned around to face them. A framed photograph stood on the wall with Keith in a prison hospital bed, where he cradled his son close to his chest, and the rest all featured Lotor posed for professional photographs with their son. The boy – _Bandor_ – looked completely human. The hair was black. The eyes were blue-grey. Shiro screwed shut his eyes and took in a deep breath, as he fought back the cold truth: he could see none of Lotor in that child. He reopened his eyes and asked in a cold voice:

“You know Bandor could be my child, right?”

Allura jumped upright. The chair behind her hurtled backward, where it landed with a loud clatter against the tiled floor, and Lance simply swore and buried his face into his hands, as if he came to expect such a revelation. A child squealed from the lounge, while another let out a high-pitched cry in response. Shiro smiled to hear Lotor utter a chastisement. They were a real family, even with a dark secret lurking under the surface, and Shiro struggled to make eye-contact with Allura as she glared at him with watery eyes and spat:

“What did you say, Shiro?”

“I was too humiliated to tell the police,” confessed Shiro. “I think Keith was too ashamed to confess that there was anything more to matters. The fact is that he forced me to penetrate him . . . he wouldn’t stop until . . . until I . . .” Shiro blinked back tears. “He told me that he slept with Lotor that same night, so the child could belong to either of us.

“I’m telling you this simply because I want a clean break. I don’t think of Bandor as mine; I had my genetic material _stolen_ from me, so I played no part in his conception, and Lotor has been happy to play ‘daddy’ to the boy, which I’m fine with, but I do _not_ want Keith using this as a weapon against me. If he ever comes at me for paternity tests or child support, I swear that I will make him regret it with every legal means at my disposal.

“Kuro is happy to claim _he’s_ the father, as well as fight for full custody, and – yeah – he has no adult record and he’s not on a register, so he’d probably get it over Keith, and I’m happy to fund him with the best lawyers possible. It’s an easy choice: Keith keeps his son and leaves me alone, or he fights me and we’ll take everything from him.”

“You’re really going to play _that_ dirty,” spat Lance.

“You are _damn_ right that I am,” said Shiro. “Keith threatened to take _my_ child when he thought that it might belong to him, and I can’t trust him as far as I can throw him, so I’m more than willing to take every precaution I can to protect my family. You leave us alone and we’ll leave you alone. I want you to tell Keith that, too. We’re done here.”

Shiro spun around and tears fall over his cheeks. They would never seen him broken and afraid, while he knew he would never be able to look at Bandor without resentment, and so his only hope was that they succumbed to the threat, too afraid to have Bandor taken by Kuro and raised by a family they despised. Shiro brushed away the tears, as he sniffed and gasped for breath. Lance bickered with Allura, as they fought about how to proceed, until Shiro found strength to call back to them with a low and trembling voice:

“I left a cheque inside the envelope with the letter.”

“Why would you do that?”

“It’s written out in Bandor’s name,” said Shiro. “You’ll find that I made him an account at the bank on the cheque, which is a closed account only he can open once he turns eighteen, and it’s enough to fully pay for his university education, along with maybe enough left for a deposit on a small house. I would feel better knowing he’s provided.

“If you choose not to cash it, that’s your decision. I just wanted to have left something for him, because . . . I don’t know . . . it just feels the right thing to do in this situation. I can’t even call Krolia a mother, as she abandoned us when we were kids, but –”

“Wait? _Krolia?_ ”

“Yeah, it’s where I got my Galra heritage to get pregnant. Look, I was able to cope, but I saw what it did to my brother . . . he felt unwanted, worthless . . . I know you’d never tell Bandor the truth, which is for the best, but _I’d_ know the truth and I know it’s not his fault that any of this happened or that I’m walking away from him. I owe him _something_.”

Shiro threw back his head. The tears ran over his lips, until he tasted the bitter liquid, and he fought away the images of Kuro throughout their childhood . . . _‘when’s Momma coming home?’, ‘how come Momma doesn’t love me?’, ‘did I do something bad?’_. . . he tried to forget the temper tantrums and juvenile courts and domestic arguments. He slowly looked forward and focussed only on the future. Shiro swore he would never repeat their mother’s mistakes, as he lowered his hand to the still slightly swollen stomach. He muttered:

“Anyway, thanks for listening to me.”

He wiped quickly at his eyes, before he dashed across the hall. Shiro paused briefly to glance at the lounge, where a high-pitched cry echoed out as someone paced with shushing noises, and a sharp stab at his gut had him doubling over with a choked sob. It took all his strength to race to the front door and throw himself out onto the porch, where he slammed it shut and leaned against the painted wood with a low sigh. He turned his head to the window.

The curtains were closed. There was no way to see Bandor, but still Shiro stared and waited in hopes of a single sight, until – with a curse – he strode across the garden path towards the white-picket fence and hopped the small gate. He climbed into his car, where he held back a frustrated scream and slammed his hands over and over against the steering wheel. Tears ran down his cheeks until his eyes grew bloodshot. He waited inside the car for nearly half-an-hour in hopes of a mere glimpse, but none came and he realised this was a goodbye.

Bandor was – and never would be – his son. Shiro collected himself and cleaned off his face, before he made a call to Kolivan and started the car, and he followed the less than familiar route back to their gated community, where his family would wait for him. Kolivan would have a home-cooked meal ready to serve, Kuro would be playing with Ulaz, Romelle would ask him how things went . . . they were a family and they were complete . . .

They had a whole life ahead of them.


	10. Epilogue

Keith was lost.

The Garrison pre-school was built like a labyrinth; every corridor branched in multiple places, while classrooms were designated by animal signs, and the décor was a mixture of educational postures and beige wallpaper, so that he was forced to count the clown murals as a way to orientate his location. The students were all in perfect uniform, with even the adults dressed according to military rank or teaching position. Keith frowned.

He bounced Liam in his arms. The six-month old stared at him with blue eyes, both so wide that they expressed well his childlike awe at all in his sights, and – as they passed some posters on diversity – he would call out ‘da’ and point to the Galra models. There were a few tangles in his black locks, from constant crawling and playing and fidgeting, but a beautiful flush to his purple skin as he babbled incoherently about the school. Keith smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead, while Lotor walked beside him and held tight to Bandor’s hand.

There was still a swell to Lotor’s stomach, as he struggled to shift the baby-weight with an ever-expanding political career that pulled them ever closer to New Daibazaal, and it would only be a matter of time before they would need to relocate. The letters from Zarkon were increasingly pleading in tone, while Honerva continued to ring them every day to speak to her grandson with a longing in her voice. Lotor asked with a heavy sigh:

“Son, do you recognise your classroom?”

Bandor huffed and swung on Lotor’s arm. The shirt was already pulled loose, while his face was speckled with grease from an earlier attempt to help Keith with a mechanical error, and his trousers were torn from having run to the school gates. A small smirk pulled at Keith’s lips, until Lotor nudged him and narrowed his eyes with a low hiss. Keith whispered an apology, even as a chuckle escaped him and Lotor sighed once more, but Bandor ignored them as he skipped and jumped and kicked with each and every step.

“I think we’re the green tigers,” said Bandor.

“You ‘think’ or you ‘know’?”

“I’m only four.” Bandor rolled his eyes. “The teacher walks us to our classroom! I told them that they should use signs, but they said some people can’t read. I said they were stupid then, so they made me stand in the corner, and I said _that_ was stupid too, because I can’t learn in the corner, and that’s when they said you and Daddy had to come to school.”

“I think we should home-school him,” said Keith. “This place stifles his creativity and he’s too advanced for a lot of their classes. Did you see the homework they sent? It was the freaking alphabet! He’s known that for a year now. It’s stupid.”

“See, I _told_ you it was stupid, Papa,” called Bandor.

Lotor pinched the bridge of his nose. Bandor continued to pull and tug at his arm, only this time he repeated ‘Papa’ over and over in an attempt for attention, and Lotor simply bent low with a heavy exhale of breath, as Bandor crawled over his back and sat on his shoulders. It made for a beautiful sight; tiny hands dug into silver locks, as their son babbled aimlessly about his classes to the father whose face now lay out of sight. Lotor grasped his lower legs in a tight hold, as he turned to Keith to ask in a firm voice:  

“Can we agree to ban that word?”

A low blush crossed over Keith’s cheeks, as they stopped not far from a stairwell. The building split into a crossroads, with two corridors just out of sight, and an array of posters covered the walls with various themes that showcased every child’s work. It only took a few seconds to spot Bandor’s work; most pictures featured drawn images of parents and caregivers, as the ‘family’ theme took precedence for the youngest years, whereas Bandor had drawn a map of a fantasy world and annotated it with childish scrawls. Keith said:

“I just don’t want him being pressured to be what he’s not.”

“I do agree with you,” said Lotor. “I am concerned that our son is losing his individuality and being forced to conform, even if that sets him back in terms of education, but – equally – this school has the best grades across the nation. There was not a single student last year that graduated without a waiting job or a university placement. That is something to consider.”

“Look, I’ll admit that _maybe_ a part of the problem is self-expression. I need to teach him better than to insult people and speak his mind without thought, but do you really want him to learn that he has to be just like everyone else? If he misbehaves, he gets isolated. If he dresses or acts differently, he gets alienated. It’s like he has to be just like everyone else, which is a pretty dumb-ass message, when he’s perfect just the way he is now.”

“You understand our Galra culture thrives on conformity? That being said,” Lotor sighed, “I have always loathed that particular aspect. We were considering schooling him on New Daibazaal, in any case, as such we could discuss with his teachers about home-schooling him until we have made the move? A few months could not possibly hurt.”

“I don’t know, I mean, what if –”

“Oh my God,” whined Bandor. “You guys are so _boring_!”

Bandor rolled his eyes, as he kicked to be let down. A low chuckle escaped Keith, as he bounced Liam in his arms and nodded for Lotor to bend low again, but – as soon as his hands let go of small legs – Bandor jumped from a considerable height for his size . . . _‘Bandor, no, be careful’_ . . . luckily, he landed well and stood tall with hands on his hips. He bore a proud expression, and scoffed at them for their concern with a wink.

It took all of Keith’s self-control not to yell, when another child appeared. They stood centre of the crossroads in perfect uniform, with their hair twisted into a stylish plait over one shoulder, and their yellow eyes marked them as one with Galra descent. Bandor squealed out on sight of them, as he waved with wild gestures and called out! Lotor placed a hand on his shoulder. It was a futile attempt to get him to stand still, especially as Bandor squeezed out from the hold and ran with considerable speed straight for the other child, as he yelled out:

“Hey, it’s Ulaz! I want to go play!”

The name struck a chord. Keith stumbled back and held Liam ever tighter, while he panted for breath and briefly screwed shut his eyes, but – after a few seconds to ground himself – he reopened his eyes and saw Bandor grasping Ulaz’s hands, as he swung in circles and sang loudly an Altean song taught to him by Coran. Ulaz laughed and struggled to form the words, before settling on singing the same song in his Galra tongue. Lotor whispered:

“Are you okay, my love?”

Keith leaned against Lotor, who wrapped an arm around him. The warm and firm touch grounded him and brought a small comfort, as Liam cuddled against them with low murmurs, and soon the warmth of drool soaked into Keith’s shirt. Keith sighed with a smile, as he pressed a kiss to the black locks of hair. He kept his eyes firmly locked on Bandor, who busied himself with huge gestures and loud voices, while Ulaz tried to spin around to keep sights on him, and all the while Keith’s heart raced fast enough that he feared Lotor heard.

“He’s at the crossroads,” muttered Keith.

“Hmm? I do not understand.”

“No one leaves a kid unsupervised. There’s a corridor just off there, as we’re in an X-shape, so I’m guessing that Shiro and Kolivan are just around the corner . . . I – I didn’t know that their kid went to school here. I thought they worked outside of town? Oh God, do you think Bandor and Ulaz are _friends_? Isn’t that . . . inappropriate? I mean –”

“He has been talking a great deal about making a Galra friend. I was most happy for him, as it can be very lonely to be the only one of a species, but he has equally never been discriminated against or bullied for his heritage. I perhaps projected a little onto him.”

“Okay, so I’m not the only one who noticed all your friends are half-Galra, then?” Keith smiled and nudged at Lotor. “I can get it, though. I guess it’s nice to not be alone and meet people that are like you, and you all have similar experiences and a shared cultures and all that kind of stuff, but . . . Zethrid and Ezor have a kid, right? Could we not –?”

“– force Bandor to leave a friend he clearly adores over our issues? I think we should refuse any play-dates and ask for extra supervision on the playgrounds, but I would not try to push him to avoid Ulaz. Bandor is too young for any real conversation on Shiro’s past, as such any warnings may just frighten him or disrupt the trust between us, and I would _hope_ that Ulaz presents no threat in himself. It may be best to give them some space, in this case.”

Keith sighed, even as Lotor squeezed him. The bile rose to the back of his throat, burning his tongue with a heavy taste of acid, but he swallowed it back down and buried his nose against the black hair of Liam, as he caught that still fresh baby-scent. Lotor ran his fingers along his neck, allowing Keith to relax a little into his hold and unclench his muscles. The fear still lingered. He would have to face his worst fear in a matter of seconds, so that he swayed where he stood and grew lightheaded, and he let loose a staggered breath.

“Just promise me we’ll move soon,” asked Keith.

Lotor whispered: ‘ _I promise’_. He spun Keith around, so that they could embrace with Liam pressed between them, and the seconds passed with only the cheers of the children to interrupt the silence, until footsteps broke their way into his consciousness. Keith held his breath. He slowly lifted his head and turned to see two muscular figures centre of the crossroads, with one bending down to lift Ulaz onto his hip with loud laughter.  

Kolivan had barely aged over the years, as he bounced Ulaz and warmly smiled, but Shiro bore a few more streaks of grey in his hair, and the lines about his eyes were a little deeper from the ravages of time and aged him beyond his years. A pair of identical twins toddled about his legs, both on reins and clinging to the black of his trousers. They looked almost identical to Shiro, save for Galra ears and white hair, and Shiro – between yawns and sleepy blinks – lazily patted them on their heads. Lotor cried out:

“Bandor, we need to see your teacher!”

Bandor groaned and kicked at the ground. He ran over to Kolivan and reached up as Ulaz reached down, so that they were able to high-five with little discomfort, and soon he ran straight for Lotor, who bent down in time to throw him high above. Keith locked eyes with Shiro, who tentatively waved to them . . . time stopped . . . the hallway closed in on them, as if pressing the life from him, as he counted the seconds. . . Keith closed his eyes . . . heart racing, mouth dry, eyes blurred. Keith opened his eyes. He waved back. Lotor whispered:

“Are you okay, Keith?”

“I – I mean . . . yeah . . . yeah, I’m fine,” said Keith.

He stared until Shiro turned with his three children and left, while Kolivan trailed behind with his head low and hands clenched at his sides, and Keith stood still until the footsteps trailed away and all that was left was the familiar silence. He finally exhaled. A bout of laughter escaped his lips, as he turned and gazed at Lotor with watery eyes and tears spilling down his cheeks. Bandor frowned and reached out to wipe the tears away, until Keith kissed at his hands through his laughter and then smothered his face with kisses until he squealed to stop.

“Are you sure you are okay?” Lotor asked.

“I thought I wouldn’t be fine,” said Keith. “I always pictured the moment we’d meet again, like this constant kind of fear, but . . . I didn’t fear him. The trauma is still there, but it’s kind of muted and in this corner of my mind. I – I can’t even think how to explain it, Lotor. I still hate what he did to me, but I don’t hate him and I don’t hate myself.

“I guess it’s just this whole swell of emotion. I saw him and I’m okay. It’s like a weight has been lifted! I never knew how I’d react if we ever met again, so it lingered in my head like this dark shadow and always worried me, but I think . . . I think I have closure. He’s just a man. He has no power over me except what I give him, and I’m never letting him have that power ever again. I feel like I’m over him, even if I’m not over my trauma, you know?”

“I know you’ve not noticed the Halloween decorations,” teased Lotor.

Keith rapidly blinked. He turned and finally noticed the pumpkins in the doorways, along with the fake cobwebs over the windows into each classroom, and it was subtle . . . nothing like the décor in Shiro’s house that night, nothing like the aisles in stores each year . . . it was just like how Allura suggested decorating, if he ever found the strength. Keith slowly stepped towards one of the displays, where older children had written about the history of the holidays on orange pieces of paper, and gently traced one the letters with his thumb.

“I’m not having a panic attack,” whispered Keith.

“You’re not,” said Lotor. “You’re strong.”

The laughter spilled from his lips, as he ran back to Lotor. They held each other with the children both squeezed between them, even as Liam returned to sleep against his chest, and Bandor babbled aimlessly about nothing in his attempts to get down. Keith focused his gaze on a fake bat hidden by the lockers . . . the lack of panic was an odd sensation, like the fear was such a staple of his life that he struggled to know how to cope without it, and he pulled back in awe at his confidence. He held Liam close with tears falling faster.

“I finally have closure,” said Keith.

Lotor balanced Bandor on one arm. He reached for Keith’s cheek, as Keith nuzzled against his palm, and came close enough to press a chaste kiss to his pale cheek, before he pulled back with tears in turn and a beautiful smile across his lips. They locked eyes while Bandor fought to get down, as Liam whined at the jostles and noises. Lotor dropped Bandor beside them, before he cupped Keith’s face and pressed their foreheads together, as he whispered:

“You finally have closure . . .”


End file.
